The 26
by Pearl939
Summary: 26 children are created and scattered across Valoran for an unknown purpose. Who are they? Why were they created? And why do they all have a letter imprinted on their forehead? Features many champions (most of the 26 interact with at least one), Rated M for graphic violence
1. Prologue

"How long?"

"I await your command", came the reply, "You are aware a few will almost certainly not survive the transition?"

"It is no matter," the voice forcefully instructed, "initiate the first phase"

* * *

The light in the center of the room faded, leaving the man in total darkness save for the fluorescent green emanationg from the tanks circling the room. The roof above lit up while beams of light illuminated the walls and, more importantly, the sequence of plaques above each tank.

Circular in shape, the room itself was somewhat uninteresting; a cylinder with a communication portal in the center of the floor, ringed by 26 tanks of green liquid, above each of which were a pair of plaques engraved into the wall, side by side.

The tanks themselves were made of reinforced glass and were therefore transparent. Inside each was green liquid designed to carry and transfer nutrients and energy while providing a safe womb-like environment for the inhabitant.

Moving to a control panel by the now dull communication device, the heavyset man entered a short code and pressed a bright orange button. In response, a carefully crafted and shaped implement extended from inside the walls of each tank to each inhabitant, embedded itself, and retracted.

Above each tank, the plaques gave vital information pertaining to each experiment. The left hand plaques were, in most cases, far more intricately designed than those on the right; a set of jungle plants here, a sleek merchant vessel complete with multiple sails there. In comparison, the upper plaques were far more straight-forward: each contained a simple letter of the common alphabet, from A through to Z, with no exceptions.

Moving to the communication device, the man reached for a prominent control pad, the centerpiece of which was a large blue button. The man's golden eyes were hit with blue radiance as he reverently reached and activated the control. The blue light grew from the tanks and the portal alike, briefly blinding the man, who shielded his eyes with his arm. Upon lowering, the room had returned to darkness, with the only light being provided by the now empty green tanks.

* * *

Rain pelted down on the captains face and hat as cannon fire rang out explosively in the background. The combined scents of blood, salt, and sulfur brought a smile to her lips as she stepped onto the gangplank between the two ships.

Raising her twin pistols she let loose with a pair of blasts, each of which found their marks. The captain didn't bother glancing, instead opting to wait to hear the inevitable splash as the two defenders fell, lost to the waves.

"Captain," a member of her crew approached, "the galley is ours. Your orders?"

"Toss the dead in the ocean, accept any who yield, and lead me to their captain. The price on his head can only be collected with his head"

"Aye Captain", the mate replied as her orders were instantly obeyed.

In truth, the bounty in place for the smuggler Claudius Avonet was modest at best, but Sarah Fortune had never been one to turn away opportunities at gold.

Striding into the captains quarters of the captured ship, Sarah passed by several members of her crew holding the wanted man at gunpoint.

"Y'know Claudius, it wasn't altogether that difficult to track your movements when your first mate was so... malleable..." Sarah opened, a knowing smirk on her lips.

"Do what you will Fortune", the man spat, "I will not rise to your bait"

"You smugglers do tend to have an issue with rising... but oh well. To the holding cell, lads"

Variously smiling, chuckling, outright laughing at their captain's sense of humor, her crew hastened to do just that as her own first mate approached.

"Cap'n, beggin' yer pardons. There's... somethin that's needin your attention" the man quickly said, leading her below decks.

Following closely, Sarah did not at first quite understand what he meant; the woman was clearly dead, the blood sprayed around the room and the giant splinter of wood impaling her was testament to that. A hole in the wall nearby suggested that a cannon shot had caused the damage to, presumably, the smuggler's wife. Sarah was about to ask her first mate why he had wasted her time with a dead body and a traumatising image to be burned into her dreams when she noticed the pile of blankets behind the woman. Carefully bundled among the soft material was a very newborn baby, potentially born that night. Gently reaching forward to brush her hands over the tiny figure, Sarah Fortune's eyes turned from wonder to confusion as she realised that this child was somehow... different: Situated prominently on the little girl's forehead was a small yet clear imprint of the letter A.


	2. A

**A**

Test Subject Code: A

Sex: F

Survived Transmission: Y

Transmission Location: Adonet Smuggling Vessel

Foster Family: Adonet

Transmission outcome: Success

* * *

Life for Sarah Fortune had never been quite the same since discovering the little girl with the letter A. Adopting the child as her own, her lifestyle shifted dramatically for a time as she discovered maternal instincts and a new sense of satisfaction, despite the fact that she had never even considered parenthood. Simply keeping the girl's name as 'A', Sarah began to raise the child into a difficult life of seafaring, as well as into the corruption and crime-riddled streets of Bilgewater, her home.

Even as a young child, A showed signs of inheriting her new mother's fiery nature. At age 6 the girl was training with her mothers' weapons, and by age 10 was an able member of her crew. The girl's real test would come 6 years later however, when Sarah received word that the Saltwater Scourge was returning to Bilgewater after a year's absence.

A leaned on the ship's railing, the sunkissed 16 year old idly observing the rolling waves and empty ocean. Her long mane of chocolate hair drifted softly with each gust of wind that passed by while her crystal eyes contemplated her mother's thought processes. 3 days earlier the Captain had given orders to set off from the White Wharf of Bilgewater in order to intercept a vessel sighted the day before; the ship flew the flag of the Scourge, and Sarah's nervousness and anxiety about the possible implications were shared by her crew. The mood amongst the sailors was tense, with each waiting for something to happen. Therefore, A felt most comfortable alone, performing her light duties as required while enjoying the feeling of the open sea air on deck.

It was, in fairness, a brilliant day. Moderately strong ocean breezes caressed the sails, buffering the _Red Cannonette_ swiftly across the waves. The taste of salt was one of A's favorite feelings in the world; there is nowhere else she could ever feel more at peace than on the ocean. At age 16, A had grown into a tall girl, strong willed and worked hard by her responsibilities as a crew member. Sarah had shown no favoritism when treating with her daughter, allowing her to make her own path in the ship's ranks. From an early age A's hot-headed personality yet undeniable loyalty and dedication made her well liked and respected by her crew mates, particularly by the older members who recognised the inheritance of her mother's qualities.

Today however, A was going to get some answers. Despite never having been treated differently in front of the crew, her mother was very tender and honest in their private relationship. A hoped that would count for something as she left the balustrade and slowly strode towards the Captain's quarters. Walking through the mahogany doors, she caught sight of her mother, hunched over her large wooden table, intently studying a large map of the Guardian's Sea. Her signature hat sat on the table next to her, so her long red-brown hair surrounded her form, layering down on the table around her. The room itself held many fond memories for A; she spent most of her time adventuring with her mother here when she was younger, fiddling with charts and maps, playing with miniature ships, or in more recent years writing and organising letters and bounties.

Sarah Fortune looked up from her map to take in the visage of her daughter: tall, strong, fiercely beautiful, yet with a determination in her eyes that gave hint to the reason for her visit.

"I am very busy at the moment A, what can I help you with?" she asked, fatigue in her voice.

"Captain, the crew want to know what the current plan is. Myself included." A responded, with a slightly irritated tone.

Sarah cringed inwardly at the title. Why would she bother with formalities?

"I have given the crew direct orders A, I do not see the issue"

"Not for 3 days now Captain! It is too long without guidance!" A snapped, no longer masking her emotions, "We have just been sailing around for 3 days looking for a ship on the word of a man with dubious morals. How are we to know Gangplank is even out there? And why even bother chasing him?"

"A, you do not understand!" Sarah knew that such a confrontation was coming, it was inevitable. She just wished it wasn't so soon. "You know nothing about Gangplank, you've never even seen the man. You have not seen half the cruelty of which he is capable. You... have no idea"

Her final words came out heavily following the burst of emotion. A had not heard such sadness in her mother's voice. She like her fellow crewmates had always suspected that the bounty hunter had encountered the Saltwater Scourge earlier in life, but whenever A attempted to delve a little deeper into her mother's history Sarah froze up and refused discussion on the topic.

Now, however, A bore witness to something she never thought she would see.

Sarah Fortune looked up at her with twin tears streaming slowly down her face.

"A... my dear... you do not know the Scourge like I do... he has infected my mind since I was younger than you"

"Mum. What happened to you?" A responded gently, dropping her earlier formalities. This was between mother and daughter, not Captain and crew.

* * *

 _The sun had dipped in the sky as young Sarah Fortune ran laughing along the wharf. The day of her 8th Birthday, she had spent hours playing with her friends on the sands, splashing and giggling the day away. As she bid farewell to her remaining friends, she continued walking along the wharf towards her home. As she did so, she caught sight of a large black ship arriving to port, emblazoned with a serpent snaking around a wicked looking cutlass. 'THE DEAD POOL' was engraved on the side of the dark vessel, yet Sarah had never heard of such a ship._

 _Sparing the ship no second thought, Sarah continued on her way home, happily contemplating what special meal her father had cooked for her this year... Arriving home, Sarah was thrilled to taste the scent of grilled octopus in the room; her favorite._

* * *

The tears had dried on Sarah's cheeks, replaced instead by a truly happy smile. Her eyes glazed over while she reminisced on her happy childhood.

* * *

 _After a hearty meal with her parents, Sarah unwrapped her solitary present with glee. As the paper stripped away, she marveled at the sight before her: the dagger was short and thin, but razor sharp. A gold pommel connected to a sleek metal hilt wrapped by leather. The blade seemed to be made of pure darkness, yet it glistened in the light of the fireplace beside the family._

 _"Solid ebony my dear, modeled on a Duskblade. Not nearly as powerful, but far more beautiful." her father proudly explained. "I found the ebony on my last voyage, your mother did the rest"_

 _"Happy Birthday love." Her mother said softly, with a warm smile._

 _Sarah continued marvelling at her gift, lost for words, as the door opened abruptly and a figure walked into the shop._

 _Sighing, her mother rose and approached the man._

 _"The shop is closed I'm afraid sir, you'll have to come back tomorrow"_

 _"Beggin yer pardons lassy, but I'm afraid that won't do. I'm after me order, shoulda been done by now"_

 _Sighing once more in resignation, her mother went to the workshop briefly before returning with a velvet covered box_

 _"Here we are sir, the two pistols you ordered, that comes to 800 Silver Serpents"_

 _"Aye, I was afraid that may have been the case. Look here lassy, I'm not payin that. I'm gonna walk outta here and yer not gon stop me, do we have an accord?" The man's voice was suddenly sinister, an unspoken threat lacing every word._

* * *

It was at this point that the glistening eyes of Sarah threatened to spill over again as she neared the end of her account. Truth be told, she had very little recollection of what took place next, as she hit her head badly while falling. Nonetheless, it was time for her daughter to understand.

"The man, Gangplank, he... had a look in his eyes that I will never forget. Pure and utter hatred of my mother for no explicable reason. His eyes seemed to contain serpents of roaring fire, they were so red. I haven't feared a man since, but those eyes haunt me to this day"

Sarah's eyes could no longer stem the flow of tears as she recounted the events following.

"My mother resisted his attempt at theft, stating that she would take back her creations if he did not pay. That was... the wrong move." her voice was on the verge of cracking, "Gangplank took hold of the pistols and pointed them directly at my mother. He... I... My parents..."

A jumped in. She knew what would happen next.

"Mum. Stop. You don't have to keep going, I understand"

"We were innocent... so innocent. My father was an honest sailor, my mother a brilliant artist, but he blasted them to high hell right in front of me, before turning the weapons on an 8 year old girl. If he had aimed slightly higher, I would not be here today. But just like that, I was alone!" Sarah's voice had raised in volume and force at the memory, tears long forgotten.

"So no, you do not understand A, you do not understand the cruelty of that man. Maybe now you know why all I want to do is bury this knife in his fucking throat and shove it all the way through!" Sarah slammed her hand towards the table burying the beautiful ebony blade halfway to the hilt in the wood as she looked down and panted, her hair hanging over her shoulders masking tears that once again began to fall.

A slowly moved around the table to her mother's side, kneeling down beside her seated figure, resting an arm on Sarah's back and gently stroking in order to calm her emotions. The story had in truth affected A as well; learning of the brutal murder of her grandparents upset her deeply. That combined with seeing the effect it had had on her mother's mental and emotional state caused her own tears to threaten to overflow, but A pushed it back. She had to be the strong one this time.

"We will find him. And when we do, you will be stabbing for two. You're not alone anymore Mum. You have me for one, and a crew that respects and follows your every command. You have made so much out of so little. Your parents would be beyond proud to see who you have become and what you have achieved, just as you've said the same to me"

As Sarah met A's eyes, mother and daughter connected on a deeper level than ever before. The love and emotion shared between the two was palpable. Since A had come into Sarah's life, the general state of affairs had only improved. Some of her crew made the connection, believing that they had never seen their Captain happier, and Sarah knew that it was undoubtedly true. She finally had a family again. She would not lose it to the pirate. Not again.

* * *

Following the heartfelt encounter, both Miss Fortune and her daughter poured all their energy into the search, which after a week of searching finally bore fruit. A ship was sighted on the horizon which the _Red Cannonette_ hastened to tail. Finally coming into sight, the Serpent Cutlass flag was spotted by the first mate, who instantly reported it to the Captain.

The _Dead Pool_ had been found at last.

The news spread quickly through the ship, the nervous energy building as the sailors prepared for their Captain's orders, assembling on the deck.

Striding out of her quarters, Captain Sarah Fortune climbed up to the wheel, hat proudly settled on top of her red-brown mane. Fully garbed in her signature outfit, she looked down on her crew and daughter, her whole figure seeming more driven than ever before. A leaned up against a wall and crossed her arms, a tiny smile of anticipation on her lips as her crystal eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Gentlemen," she opened, "I understand your doubts these past days. I truly do. You had every right to doubt the presence of the _Dead Pool_. Yet here she is, not a half hour's distance from the _Cannonette_. I also understand your confusion about my fixation on such a ship. There is much you do not know about my past, but I will tell you this much. The Saltwater Scourge stands on that deck, the so-called fiercest pirate on the seas. But he is just a man. No, less, he is a coward. He pillages the weak and helpless, he serves only his own interests, and..."

The Captain took a breath.

"...and he murdered my family, 20 years ago."

The information swept among the sailors like a wave, some dropping their jaws and some narrowing their eyes and cursing voraciously. A knew the reaction would be along those lines, which is why she was not surprised when her mother looked to her.

"But now, the tables have turned. He may have killed my old family, but I have a new family here. Not just my daughter, no. Every man here who follows my next command, I consider blood. The Saltwater Scourge has been plaguing my mind for years, I have imagined killing him in every way conceivable. I intend on doing just that. There is one issue however. A small issue to those such as yourselves. The issue of the men standing one mile away in service to the pirate. So here's what's gonna happen. I am chasing that ship down. I will throw a boarding hook across and swing over and kill every man in my way until I reach Gangplank. Then I will ram my knife into his throat and burn his precious _Dead Pool_ to cinders. Even if I have to do it alone."

The sailors were brimming with nervous energy; they knew what she was about to ask.

"Unless of course, anyone wants to come with me?"

The resounding chorus of AYE was deafening.

* * *

The _Red Cannonette_ was alive with motion and noise. Captain Sarah Fortune barked commands from the wheel as all 4 sails were fully unfurled to catch the wind. Her free hand checked her pistols were fully loaded and operational. On the deck, sailors rushed back and forth, bringing cannons to the edge, preparing ammunition and personal weapons, bringing up barrels of oil from below decks, and altogether preparing the ship for combat. The nervous energy had been beaten out of the sailors by the Captain's words, replaced instead by grim determination. Her words had rallied her loyal crew; many had experienced similar atrocities caused by the Scourge's influence on Bilgewater, at last, vengeance was truly at hand.

A was rushing back and forth below decks, passing cutlasses, pistols, and shot from the communal armory to her fellow sailors. Once the flow of those needing arming had ceased, A took herself to her own bunk and opened the small wooden case hidden beneath. The lid opened up to reveal her own weapon; a beautifully hand crafted pistol that fit snugly into her hand. A brushed her fingers lovingly over the weapon and its engraved name: _Rose_. Collecting enough shot to last her a significant time in a firefight, A loaded _Rose_ and ascended to the deck, looking out towards the _Dead Pool_. The dark ship was getting very close. It was clearly far slower than the _Red Cannonette_ , although A did notice only 2 of her 3 sails were unfurled. Curious.

Up at the wheel, Sarah noticed the same thing. This was an unsurprising show of arrogance from Gangplank, she supposed. He must believe he has no reason to fear any vessel on his sea. Well, he believed wrong, she thought with a smile.

"Prepare to open fire, port-side!" she yelled to her willing crewmen, "Ready the grappling hooks!"

A stood on deck, grappling hook in one hand, _Rose_ in the other. At least twenty of her fellow sailors were doing the same, while the rest were organised into cannon teams, both on deck and below. The _Cannonette_ passed by the opposing ship, revealing the snarling faces of at least thirty pirates, armed to the teeth.

"FIRE!"

The order was shouted out almost simultaneously on both ships, followed instantly by a series of deafening explosions from both sides. Plumes of smoke rose to the air as the carnage began, both ships suffering significant damage. Large splinters of wood sailed through the air of the _Cannonette_ , one of which pierced the temple of a prospective boarder, spraying blood across the faces of his fellows. His screams filled the air for a split second before he hit the deck, pushing the shard through his brain. One man on the other ship was hit full force by a cannonball; what was left of him crumpled to the deck in a pool of blood.

Both sides were briefly obscured from the other as he smoke from the cannons rose between the ships. It was at this moment that Sarah commanded the hooks to be flung. Almost all found their mark, one perhaps too well, ripping into the chest of an unfortunate pirate, pulling him forwards off the side of the ship. The remainder embedded around balustrades, in the sails, or tangled in the ropes. As one, the twenty odd men and girl swung off the side of the _Cannonette_ and into the smoke before them, landing on the enemy deck to be instantly set upon by the pirate crew.

As the sounds of gunshots, agony and death grew ever louder, the pirate's own boarding crew flung over the sides of the _Cannonette_ and began their own assault. Sarah was not altogether too worried by this, the numbers were few. Surprisingly few. Why would they only send this many over?

* * *

On the other deck, A was engaged in a brutal struggle against a heavyset pirate with a bushy black beard and horrific breath. Their cutlasses clashed again and again as the sound of desperate combat surrounded her. Aiming a cut at her left side, A danced away, parrying the strike, but she had underestimated the strength of the man. The blow almost slid off the bottom of her curved sword and into her left thigh, and her wrist ached due to the collision, but she just barely managed to avoid serious injury through fast footwork. Backing off slightly, A quickly realised that strength would not win her this one. Opting to go on the aggressive, A directed a quick strike towards the man's neck, which he blocked with ease. Switching to the other side, she aimed a similar blow to his right side. Blocked again. Repeating the exact same stroke, A pulled back just before the blades clashed, instead stabbing at the man's unprotected chest. The previous blocks had left the man slow with his reactions, and the point of her cutlass sunk into his ribcage.

Turning away from the dying man, A assisted one of her fellow sailors in dispatching a pair of pirates that he was just barely holding off. As she pushed the second pirate off the end of her blade, she was about to make a sarcastic comment when she realised that her ally had taken a mortal wound and would not be walking away either. Unable to help in any way, A focused on the task at hand, turning straight into a heavy handed swing from another pirate who was apparently attempting to cut her in half. The girl's reactions saved her. Raising her cutlass awkwardly, A caught the blow, but the force behind it staggered her backwards, where she tripped over the man she had just stabbed, falling on her rear and dropping her blade. Laughing wildly, the pirate raised his sword above his head for another devastating blow. A saw no way to avoid it, and as the swing came crashing down, she slammed her eyes shut, expecting to feel the metal carve her in two.

* * *

Back on the _Red Cannonette_ , the pirates were being dispatched by Sarah's crew. Many bodies were scattered on the deck, but Sarah pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind, confident that there were more of pirates than her sailors. Looking across to the other deck, Sarah was dismayed at two facts: she couldn't see her daughter, and most confusingly, there was no sign of Gangplank. The former she was only worried about until she saw a pirate fall to the ground, pierced through his chest by a familiar chocolate-haired feminine figure. Looking towards the bow of the ship, she still however saw no sign of the Scourge, nor did she see anyone who stood out as captain. Was it too much to hope that he had fallen to a cannon blast? No, Sarah wanted to end him herself, she refused to believe she had been cheated by fate. Striding across her deck, she let loose with a pair of shots from her beloved pistols, taking a pirate full in the chest, sending him backwards over the edge of her ship. It was then that Sarah glanced up at the dark ship sailing alongside her own. Emblazoned on the starboard side of the bow were words that shot panic into Miss Fortune's mind.

 _The Scourge's Conquest_

This wasn't the _Dead Pool_.

As if to answer her immediate question, Sarah heard her title being screamed in panic from across the deck. Her first mate stood there, pointing out from the starboard side of the _Cannonette_ towards a dark shape, quickly approaching.

Another ship.

The _Dead Pool_.

* * *

A bone-crushingly massive impact to the starboard side interrupted A's death blow just as the blade was sailing through the air. A's eyes snapped open again when she realised she had been given a second chance. Ignoring the immediate question of What in hell was that?, A decided there were more pressing matters, and turned her attention to the man attempting to cut her in half. He had been thrown to the side from the impact and now was struggling to rise again. A followed suit.

She beat him by half a second.

BANG

A small plume of smoke drifted towards the sky, originating from the pistol in A's hand. The pirate sailed back, thrown a full metre by the blast at point blank range. Returning _Rose_ to her holster, A looked around he deck. Few remained with her, and from the looks of it all the pirates had been defeated. Then A remembered the earth shuddering impact that had saved her life, and for the first time looked over the starboard side of the ship.

"Oh." she thought.

Across the deck of the _Red Cannonette_ , another ship had rammed straight into her mother's ship. In large letters engraved on the front of the large dark ship were words that both confused and terrified A.

The _Dead Pool_.

Her mother was caught between two pirate ships, both filled to the brim with bloodthirsty pirates. Or so the Scourge thought. A plan hatched in A's mind, and she turned to her remaining allies aboard the second pirate ship.

"Any of you know how to steer this thing?"

* * *

Captain Sarah Fortune was caught completely off guard. The ship was almost upon her own, yet she was too stunned to react. Gangplank had completely outsmarted her.

It all made sense of course; it's hardly surprising that the Scourge had commandeered a second vessel. Then all the was required once someone was on his tail would be to divide his crew, set his second ship slowly sailing in plain sight, and wait for the bait to work before ramming the pursuer in the side with his flagship. It made sense, but that didn't mean Sarah was any less furious.

The moment of impact was imminent when she snapped out of her trance, instantly jolting her equally stunned crew back in to action, each attempting to brace for the collision. Some were successful, some... less so. A half dozen men were thrown from her deck to the Scourge's Conquest, and one fell between the two into the waves.

The initial impact may have been severe, but not half as imposing as what came next. With bloodcurdling shrieks and laughter, the crew of the _Dead Pool_ set upon the _Red Cannonette_ with vicious intent. Battle was joined again, but this time the pirates were no decoys; these were Gangplank's inner circle, those proven and trusted enough to crew his flagship. As such, each individual combat was far more deadly than before, and already multiple sailors had fallen to the blades of the pirates.

Thankfully, due to the ship's orientation, the _Dead Pool_ had no way of firing cannons upon her ship, yet what it did reveal was the silhouette of a large bearded man, bearing a cutlass and pistol, tossing what looked to be an orange up and down in his right hand.

The Saltwater Scourge.

Gangplank.

As his figure entered Sarah Fortune's vision, all the hatred she had felt for decades, all the loneliness, all the pain, all the suffering. It all coalesced into one burning goal: End him.

Thankfully, it would seem that he was all too willing to give her that chance. Tossing away the citrus in his hand, the pirate captain tossed his own grappling hook and hooked it over a nearby balistrade to Sarah's position up at the wheel. Slinging himself over, Sarah waited patiently. It was finally her chance to confront the man that had shattered her life, 28 years ago.

"It's over lassy," the Pirate proclaimed, "forego yer ship and I'll let you live. Even keep ye on as me own pers'nal lady companion"

"You don't remember me do you old man. You wouldn't. Almost 30 years ago you murdered my family in cold blood" Sarah spoke, determination in her voice.

"Aye, that sounds like somethin' I'd do. Young Gangplank was not the nicest of fellas, although I suppose I've never been much kinder since. But no lass, I don't recognise ya"

"The name is Sarah Fortune, Scourge. I've been waiting for you to resurface for years. You destroyed my life."

"Per'aps I did. And now I'm going to end it"

Raising his pistol, Gangplank fired a shot directly at Miss Fortune. She had expected as much however, and dived to one side, raising her own weapons towards the old pirate, who ducked behind a nearby barrel. Realising the barrel contained oil, Gangplank tipped it on its side and burst it open, coating his blade in the thick liquid. Reaching out to a nearby lantern, the oil caught, and with a soft whoosh, the blade was suddenly alight.

Chuckling loudly, the bearded pirate pointed his blade directly at his foe.

"Now lass, we begin"

Drawing her own far more plain cutlass, Sarah shook her head.

"No old man. Now, it ends."

Without another word, Gangplank rushed Miss Fortune, swinging his fiery blade in wide arcs around himself, forcing the bounty hunter to dash away again and again until she reached the edge of the ship. Aiming a wide swipe at her neck, Gangplank put his full force behind the blow. Sarah opted not to attempt to block the strike from the stronger man, instead somersaulting underneath the blade past Gangplank and to the other side of the stern. Due to her new angle of vision, Sarah noticed that something had changed dramatically. Whether it was for better or for worse, she had no time to fixate on the new information, instead focusing on the pirate king facing her down. Rushing at his adversary once more, Gangplank clashed his fiery blade with Sarah, sending sparks flying in all directions. One such spark caught the trail of oil from the overturned barrel, instantly setting it alight.

The two combatants noticed this, realised what was about to happen, then both dove for cover.

The fire trail raced towards the barrel, gathering speed. Once it arrived, there was a millisecond delay before the barrel exploded, sending burning oil in every direction. The screams coming from the combat on the main deck went up in pitch and desperation as multiple fighters, sailors and pirates alike, found themselves on fire.

Up on the stern, the two captains had avoided most of the oil; both were slightly on fire, Gangplank's left boot was burning, much to his discomfort, and Sarah's hat had fallen and gone up in flames. The surroundings had fared far worse, the captains were ringed on all sides by burning flames, with a large pool of fire situated where the barrel once was.

Facing off once more, Sarah attacked the Scourge with increased vigor; he dare burn her ship? Swinging her cutlass in a wide arc across Gangplank's body, the pirate blocked the strike and returned one of his own that Sarah barely turned away. It was clear that the old pirate was far more accustomed to using blades than his opponent, and they both knew it. The only way Sarah could win this would be if she could use her pistols, and they weren't loaded. There was only one way this duel could end if it continued the way it was.

Sarah knew she would lose. She knew she would die.

That didn't mean she had to give up.

The two captains clashed again, trading blow for blow, neither able to pierce the other's defense. The Scourge clearly had the upper hand however, and was merely toying with his opponent, enjoying the sight of her struggling. It brought joy to the old man's heart to see such... desperation. He knew he could end it at any time. And so he decided to do just that.

Moving in close to his opponent, he exchanged a few slashes before catching the bounty hunter off guard by kicking her full in the chest, sending her staggering, winded, to the edge of the stern. Striding forward, Gangplank pressed the edge of his flaming blade into the cheek of his foe. Screaming wildly at the burning of her face, Sarah's body thrashed, causing the sharp edge to dig into her skin, drawing blood from herself and laughter from the pirate. Before he could slice her face in two however, a second massive impact threw the two apart. Gangplank staggered to the side of the ship, while Sarah just barely avoided being thrown over the edge. Both looked to see what had caused the inexplicable impact, and both were equally shocked to see that it was caused by a dark ship, similar in look to the _Dead Pool_.

The _Scourge's Conquest_.

At it's helm, none other than Captain Sarah Fortune's own daughter, a crystal-eyed girl with the letter A imprinted on her forehead.

While Gangplank and her mother had been dueling at the helm of the _Red Cannonette_ , A had taken control of the _Scourge's Conquest_ , steering it carefully away from her mother's ship and around in a semi-circle, pointing it finally towards the point of impact between the two captains' ships. Ramming into the starboard side of the bow of the _Dead Pool_ , A knocked the unmanned ship totally away from the _Cannonette_ , coming side by side with her mother's ship.

With screams and battle cries, the ten-odd sailors that accompanied A threw down a gangplank and traversed to their own ship, leaping into the ongoing fray, catching many of the pirates completely off guard. A joined them, plunging into the violence, caring not for her own safety. She had seen her mother close to death at the hands of the Saltwater Scourge. Nothing would get in her way. Nothing could get in her way. She tore through the pirates, cutting down three in her path to the stairs leading to the helm.

After the impact and the shock of seeing the repositioned ship, Sarah and Gangplank alike both reacted. One more quickly than the other. Still in excruciating pain, the bounty hunter whipped her cutlass with unbelievable speed and power, caring not for technique, instead opting for a more aggressive approach. Shocked as he was, Gangplank still had near perfect reactions, raising his flaming cutlass to block the aggressive attack. As Sarah retracted her weapon from the clash, Gangplank lunged forwards, catching her wrist with his free hand and pinned it to the balustrade. Pressing his flaming sword to her hand, Sarah kicked out uselessly. Behind all the grievous wounds and the pain, something clicked in her mind. She was clearly in agony, so when her left hand desperately flailed towards Gangplank's face, he made no effort to stop the feeble action.

What he didn't expect was the feeling of metal piercing his eyeball.

Instantly dropping his sword, the Saltwater Scourge screamed in abject agony, sinking to his knees as he attempted to pry the blade from his eye socket. Despite being in great pain herself, Sarah followed him down, pressing the beautiful ebony blade deeper in, before it suddenly sunk into something solid and Gangplank stopped resisting, his arms flopping to his sides uselessly.

A rushed up the stairs to see her mother kneeling next to the old pirate, hand clenched around her ebony duskblade, impaled into his right eye socket. Blood poured from the wound, coating the man's face and spreading down to form a pool at his knees. The gruesome scene burned itself into her memory, but she knew justice had finally been done. Her mother seemed to feel the same way, looking up at her daughter with a light that A had never seen before; fulfillment.

The remnants of her crew had dispatched the remaining pirates; the surprise reinforcements had turned the fight, but there were clearly enormous losses, considering only 9 sailors remained standing of the 40 who began the fight. Hopefully there would be some only wounded, A thought. In any case, the battle was finally won.

Returning to her mother's side, the two embraced each other fiercely. No words need to be spoken, they shared a common understanding. What mattered now would be the management of the ships, the wounded, and the dead.

Ending the embrace, A looked at her mother lovingly. Things would now go back to normal, she believed wholeheartedly.

It was then however, that her body began to glow green.

Sarah gripped her daughter by her shoulders and looked into her eyes.

"A? Are you alright?"

"I... don't know what's happening! Mum, what's going on?"

"The letter... it's glowing"

And with that, A disappeared from her mother's arms.


	3. B

**B**

Test Subject Code: B

Sex: F

Survived Transmission: N

Transmission Location: N.A

Foster Family: N.A

Transmission outcome: Failure


	4. C

**C**

Test Subject Code: C

Sex: M

Survived Transmission: Y

Transmission Location: Piltover Military Corps

Foster Family: No specific family

Transmission outcome: Success

* * *

 ***SLAM***

The two young soldiers collided again, the larger boy slamming the far slimmer boy into the red dirt for the third time in a row, sending a cloud of dust into the air and provoking yet another cheer from the crowd of their peers ringing the pair. Bruised and bloody yet resilient to the point of stupidity, the small twelve year old rose once more and faced his opponent.

"Stop. Just stop Dante. There is no way you win this, and I have no interest beating down someone such as yourself. Get up and walk away." the large pre-teen spoke powerfully.

The boy, Dante, gritted his teeth, dusted himself off, and snarled viciously at the boy with the headband.

"Never" he spat.

Charging headlong once again towards his adversary, Dante readied a powerful blow with his fist, letting it sail with all his strength towards the large boy's chin. In response, the larger soldier stepped to the side, caught his foe's wrist, and twisted him over his shoulder with strength unbecoming of a boy his age. Dante crunched into the dirt face first, spitting and coughing as he was enveloped by the orange dust. As he fell however, his flailing free arm caught hold of his opponent's Piltover Military headband, wripping it off the boy's head.

A ripple of murmuring and stifled gasps went through the ring of young soldiers as the rumors they had heard were proven to be true; situated in the centre of the victor's forehead was an indent of the letter C. Ever since the boy's arrival into the company at age 10 his fellow child soldiers had pondered the reason for his single-letter name, now it was revealed.

The boy, C, closed his eyes in frustration as he realised that the news would spread throughout his division and most likely further; his one secret, unveiled for all to see. The thought terrified him; he didn't understand the reason for his deformity any better than the young soldiers gaping at him. In truth, he was ashamed of his difference.

"What is going on here?!" a voice barked from behind him.

C and the spectators instantly snapped to attention, slamming their boots together and whipping their hands in a dignified salute. Dante however had a harder time attempting to do the same. Still coughing and spitting brown saliva to the ground, the boy struggled to maintain his salute and dignity.

The question had come from a tall, dark skinned man from behind C. Major Constantine of the 23rd Division, a man held in high regard by soldiers and commanders alike. The Major was rarely heard to raise his voice, preferring to speak softly but with intensity. It was terrifying therefore for the young soldiers to hear him shout as loud as he was. Beneath their rigid forms standing at attention, all the soldiers cringed inwardly.

All, save for Dante Pearson.

The boy had finally managed to compose himself, forming a salute that would just barely pass inspection. His posture was loose, and he showed no trepidation, staring defiantly into the Major's eyes.

"It's not fair Major!", Dante began, "That freak there attacked me, I was just defending mys..."

He didn't get to finish. Major Constantine walked straight up to the boy, looked him dead in the eye, put his hand to his chest and shoved him roughly back to the dirt.

"At what point do you learn Pearson?" the Major's voice had returned to it's usual quiet intensity, his eyes boring down on the small boy lying in the dirt. "I saw you charge twice from afar, and I heard C here offer you a chance to walk away. Now what were you going to say about self defence?"

Sensibly, there was no response.

"Clear out, all of you, back to your tents. I suggest you all begin polishing your boots and cleaning your equipment, as this will be reported to Major Platten. Dismissed!" the Major commanded.

Needing no further instruction, the spectators scurried off in the direction of their respective campsites. The military complex was exceedingly large; 99 divisions of soldiers of varying ages camped at assigned sites around a central grey concrete headquarters, in which the senior officers concoted plans and stratagems. Piltover was allied with Demacia, and there were rumors of troop depolyment occuring soon. At age 12, C and the other members of his division were in no danger of being deployed; all active soldiers were required to be above the age of 15.

Dante looked as if he was about to go at C again, but he didn't dare while Major Constantine was nearby. With one final hateful glare at his rival, Dante turned and limped towards his own unit. C was about to do the same when he felt a hand clasp his shoulder from behind.

"Not you, soldier" the Major instructed, "Walk with me."

Following obediently, C marched rigidly alongside his superior, who sighed loudly as he led the twelve year old towards the river on the outskirts of the military camp.

"At ease soldier. Relax. I wish to speak with you about what I witnessed today"

C knew what was coming, and met it head on, as he always had.

"I understand sir, violence among allied soldiers is a violation. I will accept any consequence you see fit to dole out without hesitation." C spoke formally.

Taking a seat on a boulder lining the flowing river, Major Constantine looked thoughtfully at the young soldier before responding.

"Indeed... A grave violation. However, what I said before to Pearson was true; he clearly initiated each bout of combat, despite you giving him full warning of what would happen and offering a chance to walk away with nothing hurt but his dignity. And well, you saw what happened to that."

C let a small smile creep onto his face, knowing that the boy's pride would have taken a hit harder than C's fists had dealt. He wished the boy no harm, he was just an overconfident imbecile who held a grudge. That being said, he had no regrets.

"I've spoken to your commanding officers from your past divisions. They all speak of your incredible strength and maturity, as well as your willingness to shield others from harm. Know that I will be watching your progress. My division is in need of soldiers like you. Keep impressing and you will go far."

C couldn't believe his ears. He thought for certain he was going to be ruthlessly punished for his actions, despite the fact that he had not initiated the conflict. Instead, one of the most revered commanders of the Piltover Military Corps was suggesting a potential future serving in the 23rd, a highly esteemed unit of professional soldiers.

"Sir..." he stammered, "I don't know what to say"

"Then don't say anything. Just know that there are people watching you, hoping you succeed. Gods know that tattoo of yours is no accurate representation of your current performance"

Instictively raising a hand to brush the outline of the letter on his forehead, the boy instantly felt ashamed.

"It is no tattoo sir. I wish that it were, so it could be removed" C condemned, seemingly ashamed.

"And why would you do that soldier? I will not pretend to understand why you were born with it, whether it was a freak coincidence that a birthmark was shaped that way or if it is somehow related to your parents. It matters not. It is no tattoo, you are correct. It is a part of you. Why bother hiding a part of yourself? Accept it. Make it yours."

The Major rose from his seated position and began walking back towards camp, leaving the boy deep in thought behind him.

Almost as an afterthought, the Major turned back.

"One last thing soldier. You still bear some responsibility. 8 lashes to both you and Pearson, to be delivered tomorrow morning at dawn" With that, the Major strode away.

Damn.

* * *

3 years of service later, C had reached 15 years of age; the age at which he could be legally deployed into the field of battle. As Piltover was currently assisting the forces of Demacia against the Kingdom of Noxus, there was a significant chance of such a deployment to occur in the near future. C had no strong feelings on the matter; he had lived his whole life in the Piltover Military Corps, if he was ordered into war he would not balk.

At age 15, C was built like an ox. His constant training with his signature weapon, a one handed warhammer with a smooth spherical head had left his arms like rocks. His core strength from hours of daily drills and exercises had beaten the young man into solidarity. Leaving him unrivalled in the 40th division as the most physically impressive and intimidating member.

His hair was short and blonde, cut frequently by hand in order to prevent any inhibition on his sight; after all, he was most comfortable in full plate armor, laying about with heavy handed blows with his hammer and bearing the brunt of any attack on his shield. The only part he left undefended was his head, believing a helmet would only hold him back. As such, his piercing green eyes looked down on his sparring opponents as they scurried away from the behemoth before them, unable to pierce his defense.

True to his word, Major Constantine had kept watch over the soldier's progress. Arriving to the training grounds of the 40th, the Major watched on as C put down any who his commander sent against him. Constantine folded his arms, slowly shaking his head. Such a soldier had no place in the 40th division.

Noticing the imposing man watching beyond his unit members, C dispatched his final opponent, sending Dante Pearson into the dirt with tremendous force.

"Pardon the intrusion Major Platten," the Constantine spoke softly to the commander of the 40th, "...but may I have a word with your star pupil here?"

Receiving consent, the Major joined C as he seated himself by the edge of the training ring, taking deep gulps of water and catching his breath.

"Major. Forgive me if I don't stand, I don't think I'd stay upright." the young man said, with slight humor in his voice.

"At ease. I'm here to discuss your future. You will remember the potential opportunity I mentioned to you a few years ago I'm sure."

"Aye sir, it has been on my mind ever since." C admitted truthfully.

"Well soldier, I am here with good news. Effective immediately, I would like you to commence training with the 23rd divi..."

The Major was cut off instantly, crying out in pain as a throwing knife embedded itself in his side. C leapt up, looking in the direction of the throw, seeing nothing.

Behind him, a second shout of pain sounded out as another knife lodged itself in the neck of Toby Jackson, one of C's comrades in the 40th. The boy fell to his knees, blood oozing from the wound. His mouth opened to breath, only for blood to come spilling out. Toby gurgled as he grasped the knife, choking on his lifeblood, before collapsing facefirst into the dirt.

The sound of a battle cry was heard about 30 metres away, and not 5 seconds later a small squad of heavily armed soldiers wearing Noxian colours rushed out of the nearby overgrowth, charging the soldiers.

Caught completely off guard, the Piltover soldiers were not prepared for the life and death struggle they were thrust into. The 20 or so members of the division were scattered around the training area in various states of armor. Those who had just been training took up their weapons and met the charge, C included, while the rest rushed to find their arms and armor and join the conflict.

C was caught out from the rest of his division, situated as he was at the edge of the field with none but the wounded and unarmed Major beside him. As such, he was deemed an easy target for a trip of soldiers. C moved to meet them head on, slamming into the lead Noxian shield first, catching his blade and knocking him off his feet. Turning to the other two, C used his shield to keep the left side soldier at bay while swinging his warhammer in wide arc towards the Noxian's temple. The man raised his own buckler, but the spherical hammer crunched right through, grazing his neck while dealing no serious damage. C took the opportunity to turn his full attention to the warrior to his left, staggering him with a shield shove before swinging his hammer heavily overhead. The man's soldier burst open, leaving a mess of blood and bone as the man screamed. Another bash from C's shield sent him to the ground, lying in agony on his back, clutching his shoulder.

One down.

Facing the remaining Noxians, C noticed that Major Constantine stood to his left, a short dagger in hand. Grateful for the support, C engaged the man with the shattered buckler shield, leaving the third for his superior to dispatch. Easily blocking a swing of the man's poleaxe, C surprised his adversary by charging forward, shield first, knocking the man to the ground. C swung his hammer in a great arc over his head, bringing it down and burying it with a sickening crunch into the Noxian's skull.

Turning quickly to face the final soldier, C saw that there was no need. Watching on, he witnessed Major Constantine bait an aggressive swipe from the Noxian longsword before stepping in close, elbowing the man under the chin, and ramming his short blade through a gap in the soldier's chestplate. Constantine retracted the blade quickly, splattering blood that burst from the wound, and held it to the man's throat.

"Surrender now, or we leave you here to bleed to death" the Major spoke, with intensity C had never heard.

"I...I...I..." the soldier stammered, his face going pale at his impending death. "I...surrender..." he managed.

"Take him to the medics soldier, now!" the Major commanded, thrusting the man into C's arms before rushing over to join the survivors of the 40th division in defeating the remaining Noxians.

C obeyed, as he always had, scooping the man up and moving towards the medicine wing as fast as was possible when wearing heavy armor.

The whole camp was alive with activity, with soldiers from all divisions rushing to help the 40th, however they could. C didn't think there was much they could do. The Noxians were on the verge of breaking and fleeing when he left. His goal remained the same; the Major clearly wanted this man interrogated, most likely wanting to know how a squad of Noxian soldiers could possibly have reached the camp proper without being spotted?

* * *

In a dark tent at the back end of the camp, the Noxian soldier sat, his arms bound to his chair. His eyes were filled with fear as he looked up at the men surrounding him. One Piltovan in particular was standing off to one side, unpacking a set of sharp metal tools. The Noxian knew what they were for.

Major Wilkes of the 31st division loomed powerfully over the captive, arms crossed and with narrowed eyes. The attack had claimed the lives of 6 soldiers of the 40th division. It had taken a long time and light restraining to convince the irate Major Platten that his presence was not necessary at the interrogation. Kneeling down to look directly into the man's eyes, Wilkes smirked.

" _Strength above all_. Is that not your Hand's mantra, Noxian? How do you think the Hand of Noxus would react, seeing you quaking here in the face of danger?"

The Noxian would break easily, Major Constantine thought, positioned in the back corner of the large tent. He remained silent however, preferring to let Wilkes do his thing. The large man was too accustomed to such tasks in Constantine's opinion. He was uncomfortably proficient in the ' _art of interrogation_ ', as he would put it. A fancy and self indulgent way of saying _torture,_ the Major believed.

Drawing a long serrated knife, Wilkes slowly brushed the flat of the blade along the soldiers cheek.

"Things will be a lot easier and a lot less painful if you answer quickly" the kneeling officer spoke softly, fingering the blade. Rising to a standing position, Wilkes began to circle the soldier, initiating the interrogation.

"Now then. Who are you? Where did your squad come from? Who is in charge? Are there more out there?"

No response. The Noxian bit his lip. He would not give in that easily.

Sighing, the Major produced a short pin with what looked to be an incredibly sharp tip. Pressing the tip softly against the soldier's knee, he asked again.

"Who are you? Where did your squad come from? Who is in charge? Are there more out there?"

Again, no response. The soldier braced himself, taking a short breath.

Wilkes pressed down, slowly inserting the pin, listening to the cries of the Noxian. With agonizing slowness, the pin fully descended into the soldier's lower thigh, scraping along the bone.

 _"Who are you? Where did your squad come from? Who is in charge? Are there more out there?"_ Wilkes' voice raised in intensity and volume.

The soldier sat gasping, once again no response emerging from his lips.

Wilkes rolled his eyes, drawing an identical pin and positioning it above the soldier's left thigh.

Constantine had seen enough. He turned and walked out of the tent, walking 20 paces away to steady his breath. Hearing more screams emerging from the darkness behind him, he slammed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. He had no stomach for torture.

An hour and a half later, the rest of the men emerged, leaving Wilkes alone in the tent.

Grand Major Connell, one of the top officers in the Piltover Military briefed Constantine on the information gained from the man, thankfully not acknowledging the Major's departure from the scene.

Having been assigned his duties, Major Constantine saluted before leaving his fellow officers, walking briskly towards his own division's camp, but not before visiting the 40th once more.

C was cleaning his armor and weaponry with oil and water by the light of his division's communal campfire, the orange glow illuminating his whole form, throwing shadows haphazardly against the canvas of the nearby tents.

His fellows had all appeared to turn in, save for those who drew the night patrol. Approaching quietly, the Major cleared his throat to attract the thoughtful soldier's attention.

C started at the noise, placing his equipment quickly on the ground and whipping his body upright into a formal salute. Constantine saluted back, appreciating the soldier's quick reactions and deference to authority. He would do well.

"With me soldier. As I was going to inform you earlier, you have been reassigned by special request to the 23rd division. Gather your equipment and report to the 23rd's camp in the next half hour. Dismissed."

Seeing no need to elongate the command, Major Constantine turned and began striding briskly towards his own division once more, leaving the breathless young soldier behind him.

C had known it was coming of course, he had gathered that much from the earlier conversation. That did not alter his excitement however. His tired muscles filled with energy and adrenaline as he hastily followed the man's orders, disassembling his tent and packing his equipment.

C saw no reason to bid farewell to any of his division, they would receive the news the next morning, and he had no real friends among them. Major Platten was a hard instructor, and cruel with his drills. C expected nothing less in the 23rd, but he had no love for the man.

Having assembled his equipment, C positioned his headband to cover his forehead before walking away, leaving the dull campfire of the 40th division behind him.

* * *

It was well past midnight when C arrived at the 23rd division campsite; the elite squad had been assigned an area almost as far as possible from the 40th in the military complex, and skirting the military headquarters occupied the whole half hour C was assigned. Walking into the campsite, C was astounded how different the atmosphere was from the 40th: for a start, it appeared that the squad was far smaller. C counted 11 tents set up around the campfire, with just as many soldiers awake and active, variously oiling their weapons, conversing in small groups, or reading educational manuals. Across the complex, all C's ex-companions were fast asleep in order to prepare for the day ahead; C was often ridiculed for being alone, but he enjoyed the peace.

"A timely approach. Just as I expected, and hoped of you soldier"

Turning to face the familiar voice, C once more saluted Major Constantine, his new commanding officer.

"At ease 23rd" the Major directed behind C. Turning once more, C realised he was not the only one standing at attention. All 11 elite soldiers of the 23rd were standing rigidly, their earlier activities cast aside as they saluted their commander.

"This is C, an ex-soldier of the 40th. Over the past 3 years I have observed this young man and I believe he has earned a place in the 23rd"

The commendation was simple, but it appeared to be good enough for his new squad members, many of whom nodded their heads or smiled approvingly at C. Despite turning to his new soldier, Constantine spoke loud enough for the whole squad to hear.

"I'll leave you to introduce further. We rise before dawn tomorrow 23rd, we have been instructed to respond to the Noxian attack from today, so I recommend you get some rest. Dismissed"

As the Major departed, C faced his new division.

"Hey. New blood. Come take a seat by the fire", a strong female voice commanded.

Obeying, C set his heavy packs down on his side of the fire before taking a seat on a log nearby. 4 of the 23rd were seated around the fire, looking to interact with the new soldier. The other 7 either returned to their previous personal activities or took their commander's advice and turned in.

"Hi", the girl who invited him opened, "I'm Maggie. These three are Skors, Wilt, and Dawn"

Extending quiet greetings, the five soldiers talked long into the night. Maggie had curly crimson hair with piercing blue eyes. She also appeared to be an unofficial leader of the squad, loud and talkative. Wilt was a very short dark-skinned young man, constantly fingering his knife while pulling the strings of the other 3. Skors was a huge 21 year old soldier, the oldest of the squad, matching C in height while exceeding him in body mass. He spoke little during the conversation, often only responding to playful insults from the others, particularly Wilt. The final member C met that night was Dawn, a quiet girl with a charming smile and silver hair who politely inquired about his past in the military.

It was Wilt however who asked the question C was waiting for.

"By the way C, how did you get your name? I mean, no judge, but it's not exactly regular" the short man jested

"Yeah, because 'Wilt' gives off the greatest impression doesn't it..." Maggie interjected, poking her friend in the side.

C did not join their laughter, sitting there with a faint smile on his face, not wanting to answer the question. He idly readjusted his headband before answering.

"Oh well I never knew my parents, I was found by the PMC, they raised me and then put me straight into the Corps at age 5" he said, hoping that would satisfy.

It wasn't enough for Wilt.

"Yeah sure, but why 'C'? Like what's the deal there?"

Before C answered, the words he had been pondering for 3 whole years re-entered his mind.

" _It is no tattoo, you are correct. It is a part of you. Why bother hiding a part of yourself? Accept it. Make it yours_ "

C reached to his headband, about to reveal his birthmark, when the memory of his duel with Dante Pearson flashed into his mind. The sight of his 'friends' gasping and smirking at the engraving, the way Pearson had called him ' _freak_ '...

C retracted his hand.

Not this time.

"I don't know what to tell you Wilt, I have no idea which army nurse decided to start calling me C and honestly I don't care"

The soldiers, realising it was a sensitive topic, backed off.

One by one they all took their leave, returning to their fully prepared tents. C was not so lucky, picking up his equipment and lumbering tiredly over to an empty spot on the edge of the cluster of tents. 20 minutes later, he collapsed into his sleeping bag, instantly falling asleep.

* * *

"ARISE, 23rd!" a commanding voice sounded out, "RISE AND PREPARE. YOU HAVE 10 MINUTES TO PREPARE FOR BATTLE"

C groaned as he blearily took in the message. Battle. What? What battle?

Piece by piece, the previous day's events began to fall into place. Constantine. The Noxians. The captive. The 23rd division.

Right. Noxians.

C sat up and wiped his eyes, realising he had to be on the move. Already he could hear his new division rising and assembling outside. Looking outside, C saw some rinsing their face by the river. That seemed like a good option. Then he could prepare his weaponry, choke down some breakfast, and be fully prepared in about 8 minutes. His shortened routine was so rehearsed that he fell into it naturally, barely acknowledging the completely new set of companions he was operating beside.

8 minutes later, C stood ready as expected, heavy armor wiped down and prepared the night before with the 40th. His warhammer and shield were alongside his armor, polished that morning. This was nothing new to the 15 year old.

What was new however, was that he was not the only one prepared. He waited around the extinguished campfire, seated next to Skors and another man he had not met. All 12 members of the 23rd division were assembled, waiting for their commanding officer.

As if on cue, Major Constantine strode into the camp, wearing thick leather armour and with a pair of highly polished short swords slung on his belt. The 23rd rose to meet him, snapping into a formal salute.

Nodding to his division, who relaxed instantly, the Major began the briefing.

"As you all know, there was an assault on the Piltover Military Corps' 40th Division yesterday afternoon. I was present for the attack, and am only lightly wounded thanks to the courage and bravery of our newest member"

The final comment drew eyes from all 11 squad veterans. C met their gazes halfway; all showed respect.

"During the course of the combat," the Major continued, "9 Noxians fell to the weapons of the 40th and nearby soldiers from other divisions. 6 fled, 4 of which were picked off by our archers and sharpshooters. The remaining 2 escaped, albeit wounded. Scouts from the 6th traced their path across the river to a heavily manned camp 12 miles to the North of our current position. Estimated 30 Noxian troops, with no commander sighted. We move in 3 minutes. Armour up now, there will be no time or space on the transport"

Absorbing the information silently, the commander saluted his soldiers once more, who returned the gesture before rushing to obey his commands. Each of the 12 gathered up their armor, some taking a minute to don it fully. C had started during the briefing, knowing fully well how long it took to don heavy plate armor such as his own. Skors appeared to have done the same, walking towards the camouflaged military transport looking more metal than man. The rest of the 23rd, C included, applied war paint and fixed their gear before piling into the small truck.

No one talked during the journey. 10 minutes later, the vehicle pulled over. The Noxian camp was 3 miles to the North. From here the 23rd would continue on foot so as not to alarm the enemy before they arrived.

Constantine gave several lightly armored soldiers free reign to roam ahead, marking a silent path for the rest of the division while eliminating any patrols. Wilt was one of these; C watched him disappear into the brush, instantly losing sight of the small soldier. The rest followed the path a few minutes later, fanning out into a wide line before slowly advancing.

Half an hour later, the Major raised his hand to signal the squad to halt. He moved forward silently, drawing one of his polished short swords, before giving the all clear. Before him was a pair of dead Noxians, their throats cut. Wilt and the other scouts had done their jobs well.

A few minutes later, the squad reassembled. Wilt and the other scouts sat looking out from the brush towards what appeared to be the Noxian camp; they were situated on a small hill, the large cluster of tents surrounded by a ring of sharp spears pointing outwards. The camp looked to be alive with activity in the mid morning light, with soldiers alert and on watch at all times. There would be no angle from which to approach without being seen.

Turning to his loyal division, the Major gave his orders; short and to the point.

"There appear to be less than expected. I would guess 25. That is still too many to charge however. Rosen, Wilt, Gera. Get their attention. Make it sting, then drop back to the treeline. Skors, C and Hillard, drop 20 metres south. You're the ones wearing metal. We don't want that catching the sun. You'll know when to move forward. The rest, with me. Pick a tree, stand behind it. Wait for them to check. Hopefully we can bring down 5 or more. We can charge 20. Move, now!"

* * *

3 minutes later, the bait was moving forward. Wilt, Rosen and Gera dropped low at the treeline, ranged weapons ready. Rosen wielded a shortbow, the short dark skinned girl nocking an arrow to the string, waiting. Wilt preferred a more primitive slingshot, but was adept in it's use, while the tall wiry Gera lay fully on the ground, raising a crossbow to her cheek.

Each picked their target, before loosing their projectiles as one: Rosen's arrow thunked into a tent, ripping a line down the canvas. Gera's bolt thunked satisfyingly into the chest of a leather-armored watchman, the man dropping instantly, while Wilt's sharp rock sung true, catching another guard in the temple. Gashing open, blood began to pour while the man dropped to his knees in pain, then flat on his face as he fell unconscious.

The reaction was instantaneous. Multiple shouts from the areas of impact rose up, and a moment later a horn was blown, alerting all the soldiers in the camp.

The blast carried to the ears of the 23rd. Major Constantine stood with his back to a tall willow. A small smile met his lips as he witnessed his scouts dropping back in mock fear to the treeline, presumably fleeing from whatever guards had emerged.

Two trees in front, Maggie risked a peek around the edge, seeing a group of 6 Noxians approaching the trees with more following behind, all heavily armed and armoured. Drawing her twin war axes, the girl let out a loud war cry as she spun from the tree, whipping her right arm forward. The axe caught the Noxian in his unprotected chin, digging into the bone. He shrieked in pain and surprise, raising a hand to the weapon, before the redhead charged him, sinking her other axe into his neck.

The rest of the 23rd had acted similarly. Wilt, Rosen, and Gera stood at the back of the party, lending ranged support where it was needed. Dawn's razor sharp glaive thrust into a Noxian chest before being whipped horizontally into the face of another, blinding the man. Rushing headlong forwards, the blinded soldier fled into a tall bush, only to be bulled into by an enormous suit of armor. A loud metallic sound rang out as Skors' shield threw the man onto his back, before his gauntleted fist smashed into his face with a crunch.

With that, every Noxian that had entered the brush had fallen. Not wasting any time, Major Constantine gave the simple, one word order, that electrified their adrenaline-filled hearts.

"CHARGE!"

* * *

Up on the knoll, the Noxian commander was uneasy. She could hear the sounds of fighting and screaming as well as any of her troops, but she was unsure whose death-cries she was hearing.

Until of course, she heard the order to charge.

Right.

Fingering a pair of knives in her hand, the scarlet-haired woman watched on as her camp was charged by a small squadron of Piltovians. Shouting orders at her incompetent men, she prepared the small fortification as best she could. She had sent word to the grand general the night before, informing him of the failed attack and of the scouts Piltover had sent to track her weak-willed soldiers, yet still he commanded her to hold position. It was an insult, really, the orders he had given. She could not wait for the day Jericho Swain fell from power. She would be there.

For now however, there was the matter at hand. The soldiers of Piltover clashed with her own, a trio of heavily armed young warriors leading the charge. The rest fell in behind, engaging and defeating her pathetic troops one by one. Realising how the fight would end, the scarred woman decided to have some fun before retreating.

* * *

Skors led the charge, C and Hillard alongside him, the three rushing the Noxian defenders. Skors crashed through the front line shield first, their spears and blades barely nicking his thick armor. Hillard was next, using the opening to begin laying about with her silvered greataxe. C lagged behind, engaging the soldiers to the right of Skors to give the rest of the division time to follow up.

And follow up they did. Maggie rushed to Hillard's aid, tossing one axe into the face of a Noxian while using the other to aid the heavily armoured woman in defeating her already crumpling foe. Dawn turned right upon entering the camp, engaging a female soldier who was assaulting C's unguarded right hand side. Thrusting her glaive forward, Dawn pushed the Noxian away from her ally before swinging it in a wide arc, forcing the woman further backwards. Dawn continued forwards, attempting now to inflict injury instead of creating distance.

Thankful for the assistance, C was able to turn his full attention to the man in his face. Swinging his flail once more, C caught the spiked ball on his shield, bulling forward into the Noxian, knocking him on his back. This was a position C knew well, and his hammer came crashing down, the spherical head bursting into his skull.

All around him, the soldiers of the 23rd were turning combat into an art form: Dawn's incessant zoning of the Noxian woman finally bore fruit as the woman charged her, attempting to get close to the Piltovan warrior. That was the wrong move. Dawn changed her grip on the weapon, shoving the woman away with a forward shove of her now horizontal glaive. Staggering back, the soldier looked up, only to see the glaive come flying point first towards her. The weapon was thrown with such force that it went all the way through, bursting out of her lower back and sticking into the ground. Retracting her weapon, Dawn turned and lunged back into the fight.

It had never occurred to C that a soldier would go into a fight without a weapon, until of course he met Skors. The hulking man used everything at his disposal to sow chaos around him, slamming his shield, fist, and even helmet into the lesser Noxians, all to devestating effect. He witnessed Skors bash his shield forwards into an enemy soldier, staggering the man backwards, before a bolt sailed into his neck due to the work of Gera.

And yet, the Noxians kept coming. At least 10 had fallen to the 23rd, with no casualties that C could see. The remaining troops fought on with grim expressions; they knew how the fight would end, but their dedication to their nation compelled them onwards. If they were to die, they would die with strength.

15 minutes of hard combat later, C found himself seperated from the rest of the 23rd. Dawn was at his back, he knew, engaging a pair of Noxians, but the rest were still engaged near the camp entrance. He had no idea how he had wound up so far away from his division, but he did not have time to consider the question further. The trio of soldiers in front of him had bloodlust in their eyes, and C had no intention of satisfying them.

Blocking an attack from his left, C decided that the best way to approach such a situation was to be the aggressor. He slammed his shield into the face of the left side Noxian, then kicked out at the enemy in the middle. Both reeled backwards, giving C precious seconds to swing his hammer powerfully towards the final soldier's face. The man blocked it handily, raising his shield totally in front of his face. Hoping that the soldier couldn't see him from that position, C quickly dropped low and aimed a backhand strike at his right knee.

A sickening crunch confirmed the theory. The screaming Noxian collapsed, the remnants of his shattered knee caving in as he fell. Satisfied, C turned to the others. He was answered with a mace that crunched into his left shoulder, hitting him like a ton of bricks. Staggering backwards, the middle soldier took the opportunity to kick him in the chest, sending him to the ground before raising his greatsword with a grin, blood in his eyes. Bringing it down, C rushed to raise his shield above his body. The impact jarred his whole body as the blade bit deep into the metal, but it did not reach the 15 year old beneath.

Turning from her fallen foes, Dawn instantly processed the situation. Swinging her glaive in a wide arc, the blade found the gap between the neckpiece and breastplate. The central Noxian fell, blood bursting from his cut throat.

The final Noxian, furious at the deaths of his friends, attempted to bludgeon the over-extended Dawn. His mace didn't make it halfway before a gauntleted fist caught his wrist. Dropping his shield, Skors raised both of his hands to the Noxian's neck, lifting the man a foot of the ground before wrenching it to one side, causing a sickening crack.

Reaching down, Skors offered a hand to the still-jarred C. Accepting it with gratitude, the big man pulled his new ally to his feet, and placed his hand on his shoulder, turning to face their Major.

"Well done 23rd", Constantine began, sheathing his blood-soaked blades, "26 Noxians have fallen this day, with only minor wounds on our end. A near-perfect victory."

"Only near perfect sir?" Wilt piped up, "What went wrong?"

"We have found no noticeable commander, that is the issue. It matters not, he most likely was unrecognisable, and now lies at our feet somewhere." the Major responded, a dark smirk on his lips.

"Well I for one think you're just not looking hard enough, Sir"

The sarcastic voice had come from the other side of the camp, where a Noxian woman could be seen lazing against one of the spears. Her hair was deep scarlet, and she wore black leather with no helmet, revealing a scar over her left eye.

The 23rd responded instantly, redrawing their weapons and bracing for an attack. Wilt, Gera and Rosen all loaded their respective weapons and aimed directly at the woman, waiting for an order to fire.

"Oh please, put those toys away '23rd' ", the Noxian spoke with a mocking tone, "Like you could hit me anyway. If you have half an idea of who I am, you'll know better than that"

Standing upright, Katarina Du Couteau, the Sinister Blade, smirked at the soldiers.

"I hope you enjoyed slaughtering those incompetent imbeciles. None of them should have ever been born in Noxus. They have no right to call themselves Noxian. To be fair however, neither would any of you. Not one of you has impressed me, least of all you, blondey"

C realised she was talking about him.

"Yeah, you. Couldn't even face up to three of these morons without going and getting smashed in the face. If it weren't for your girlfriend behind you your skull would be crushed like an egg right now. You have no right to be alive!" the assassin spat vehemently. She had always detested weak soldiers, they had no place on the battlefield.

Turning away, she began to walk from the camp, seemingly heading in the general direction of Noxus. The soldiers began to relax.

"Before I leave you, I feel it is only right that I correct the situation", Katarina spoke lightly, almost as an afterthought.

Spinning, the assassin appeared as a blur to the soldiers, sending a pair of razor sharp blades flying towards C. His tired muscles reacted too slowly; a metallic sound rang out as he felt one slice deeply into his left cheek. It burned as blood flowed freely from it, his hand doing little to stem the flow as he fell to his knees in pain. Remembering that there were two blades however, C looked up. The blade was buried in the ground. Above it, Dawn's glaive hovered. When the assassin had spun, Dawn had swung her weapon downwards, intercepting the blade meant for his heart.

C's mind boggled at the information that Dawn had succeeded in such a manoeuvre, literally saving his life. Looking down at him, Dawn nodded. No thanks were necessary. Looking beyond, C realised that his attacker had disappeared. Katarina Du Couteau was gone.

As the 23rd disassembled to treat their wounds, Dawn approached C.

"Hey" she opened.

"Hey. I didn't get a chance to thank you before. Your glaive skills are unbelievable"

Laughing softly, the silver haired girl replied.

"Yeah I've been told that before... Years of practice I suppose. When I joined the Corps it was the weapon I felt most comfortable with. I suppose I've never looked back, it just feels right"

"No complaints here" C jested, the two 15 year olds laughing softly.

"But hey, speaking of incredible talent, your warhammer use is nothing to be sniffed at!"

"I guess I'm the same as you, it felt most natural to me. I first used it to defend the..."

The two conversed jovially for the next half hour, enjoying each other's company, each discussing their different opinions on fighting techniques. C felt comfortable with the female soldier, more comfortable than he ever was with anyone in the 40th. There was something about her that was just... exciting. She helped him roughly stitch up his wound, before insisting he ice the area while talking all about their various thoughts on the Corps, the differences between the 23rd and the 40th, and about the different members of his new squad.

It was late when the division returned to camp, and even later when C turned in that night. He had spent the night joking and laughing with the whole squad, exchanging anecdotes about the fight that day. No one had been badly injured and a threat to Piltover was eliminated. It was a great day for the 23rd, and an even better one for C. As he sat there, making fun of Wilt, sharing meat with Skors, and laughing with Dawn, for the first time ever C began to believe that he had found a family.

* * *

A year later, C had never looked back. The 23rd division had in truth become the first family he had ever known. A family that had welcomed him with open arms. Following their victory at the Noxian camp, the division had been assigned numerous times to fend off Noxian aggression, with no losses occurring each time. It was almost too good to be true, which is why when Major Constantine was summoned to Piltover Proper to meet with his commanding officers and, supposedly, the Mayor of the City-State, their mood was unchanged.

C was practicing in the 23rd's training area, sparring off hand-to-hand against Skors. He was yet to defeat the huge man, as his superior strength won over every time. It was the same story this time as well: when C launched a kick at Skors' stomach, the larger soldier made it look easy when he stepped to the side, caught C's leg, and twisted him, making the 16 year old fall to the ground like a sack of hay.

C rose, fire in his eyes, and charged his opponent, launching himself forwards. Skors met him halfway, accepting the challenge, a knowing smile on his face. C had put full force into the lunge, expecting Skors to shudder under his sheer weight and energy.

Skors didn't budge. The big man instead caught C, lifted him up, and wrapped him in a massive bearhug. The rest of the division laughed wholeheartedly at the situation developing before them as C kicked in vain, trying to free himself from the muscular man's grasp.

Skors obliged him, dropping C on his back.

The young man groaned painfully as he rolled over, signalling his defeat.

"Well that was rude, you big bastard" C called out.

"What was rude was that you didn't return the hug, scarface" the big man rumbled out, causing more laughter from his friends and drawing a defeated smile to C's face. He and Skors were good friends; he saw the hulking man as a sort of big brother.

"Right then. Who's next?" Skors asked the assembled squad members, who all suddenly had other things to do.

* * *

"Demacia?" Major Constantine blurted, disbelieving, "You want a single division to go to Demacia?"

"The Demacians have requested more aid. They haven't exactly been nice about it either" the Mayor explained.

"The 23rd has one of the best names of all divisions, Constantine, it would bring them great honor!" Commander-in-Chief Brennet pointed out, not incorrectly.

"The 23rd are barely more than teenagers sir!" Constantine exclaimed, "Elite they may be, but my soldiers will make little difference when resisting the Noxian war machine. I believe..."

"It doesn't matter what you believe, Major, the 23rd are being sent to Demacia. If you do not wish to lead them we will assign them a new Major. I believe Major Wilkes would be more than pleased to..."

"NO! No, oh god no. I will lead my soldiers. Forgive me sirs, I spoke out of turn. If this is your command, I will make it so"

"Thank you Major, no harm done. Your concerns are perfectly valid, but we believe your division is beyond able to deal with such dangers. You are to leave the day after you arrive back at HQ, whatever day that may be. For Piltover!"

"For Piltover!" the assembled commanders responded.

Having been dismissed, Constantine was livid. He could not believe the audacity of his superiors: One division? To help face the whole Noxian army? He had not seen the Demacians at work, but he had far more faith in his own soldiers than he did in theirs. His reaction to being dismissed was what the officers expected of course; Major Wilkes was not well liked nor respected among the higher-ups. Constantine would rather die that let that sadist command his loyal soldiers.

Speaking of whom, Constantine knew they would not be happy. They had become very tight knit, and the Major cared for them all. He did not look forward to breaking this news.

* * *

"...and so, the Mayor and the Commander-in-Chief have chosen us to aid Demacia directly. We leave tomorrow evening to travel to the Demacian front, where we will be working alongside their units and commanders. I will still have direct command over you, but my service will belong to the Demacians at that point, so some of my orders may be over-ruled. Prepare your equipment and say your farewells to the other divisions. Tomorrow, we go to war. Dismissed."

The Major took a deep breath as he observed how his squad took the news. Most were unflinching, yet had a twinge of sadness in their eyes. Dawn had turned pale, while Skors was completely unmoved by the news. C had closed his eyes, looking tired, before opening them, nodding, and moving away. The rest of the squad dispersed slowly, each dealing with the information differently.

The next morning, C was not found doing his regular morning routine. Dawn was the first to notice; she was often the only other one up at this time, meaning the pair would commonly share breakfast and each other's company. Searching the campsite, she found no sign of him. His tent was empty, and both he and his warhammer were missing. Realising instantly, she craned her neck to the sky, listening.

Sure enough, she could hear the distant sound of metal smashing into wood. Leaving her hair down, Dawn followed the sound into the woods, towards the river.

About 300 metres into the growth, C was taking out his emotions the only way he knew how; smashing his hammer into a nearby tree trunk as hard as possible. The ancient tree seemed not to care, despite the massive indentation being dug deeper with each swing. Dawn approached carefully, remaining hidden while observing her friend's behaviour. Beads of sweat ran down C's bare back, his toned muscles glistening in the early morning light. His hair was damp, having clearly been washed in the river already, It truly was a picture of beauty in her mind, ruined only by the meaty sound of metal colliding with wood.

"Have you killed it yet?" Dawn said, leaning back against a tree of her own, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow towards the troubled soldier.

"Why am I not surprised you found me this quickly?" the young man responded.

"I know you too well, that's why, doofus"

C turned to face his friend, a small smile creeping onto his face as he panted from the work. As he took in the form of his closest friend in the division, his eyes widened slightly. Her silver hair was normally tied into a ponytail, yet this morning it cascaded over her neck and shoulders. She truly was stunning...

Shaking his head slightly, C set his warhammer down and walked to the river. Kneeling alongside it, he washed his face in the crystal water, eventually stripping off his shorts and climbing in, wearing nothing but his underwear and his headband. The soldier seated himself on a rock underneath a small drop in the river, allowing the mini-waterfall to clean his body for him.

"Had a wash this morning?" he called out above the noise of the rushing water.

As if to answer, Dawn padded over to the river's edge and dipped one leg in. Seeing that it wasn't freezing, Dawn smoothly removed her shirt, leaving her in just her underwear from the night before. C attempted to avert his eyes as she did so, granting the girl some modicum of privacy, before she stepped into the river, crossing over to seat herself beside him.

"Why are you still wearing your headband?"

"I always wear my headband, you know that. I'm not comfortable without it" C responded easily. He had gotten used to spinning that particular lie.

" ' _not comfortable_ ' you say... but why is that?"

"You saw what I was doing, it's sweaty work, it keeps it out of my eyes"

C began to feel a little uneasy. Normally the questions halted there; no one had ever followed up like Dawn was.

She wasn't even close to done.

"C... why do you wear your headband all the time? Don't lie to me, I know there's something you're hiding"

"I... there's nothing Dawn, seriously."

"I think you're lying to me."

"I think you're being ridiculous"

"Why won't you open up to me? You're my best friend in the world, you know everything about me"

"That's... I mean... It's different when..." C flailed, not finding a proper argument.

"C..." Dawn said softly.

C's eyes closed. The memory of him being labelled a freak flashed back into his mind, the shocked looks on his peers' faces burnt into his psyche. More memories came flooding into his mind's eye; his first real conversation with Dawn, sparring with Skors, laughing with and at Wilt, teasing Maggie, seeing how far he could push her buttons. Sharing breakfast with Dawn. Training with Dawn. Fighting alongside Dawn. Laughing with Dawn. Finally, the words of his current commander flitted back into his mind:

" _It is a part of you. Why bother hiding a part of yourself? Accept it. Make it yours._ "

" _Accept it. Make it yours_ "

" _Make it yours_ "

" ** _Make it yours_** "

His eyes snapped open. Without hesitation C reached forwards, cupping Dawn's cheek and pulling their faces close. The two soldiers' lips crashed together in a heated exchange. Dawn made a small noise in the back of her throat, before easing into the kiss.

It's not like she'd thought of anything else since seeing him that morning.

As the kiss tapered off, Dawn slowly retracted her face from his, brushing her hand over his right cheek tenderly.

Following the direction of his mind, C's hands continued upwards. Looking deep into Dawn's eyes, he spoke one quiet sentence.

"There is a reason for my name"

With that, C removed his headband, under which his deepest secret lay. Dawn's eyes widened slightly. She suddenly realised how much this meant to him.

Leaning forward once more, the two kissed passionately in the river, wasting the morning away in each others' arms.

* * *

The sun was low in the sky when the 23rd departed Piltover Military Corps HQ, and even lower when their transport arrived the next evening at the Demacian front. Captain Terence White received the elite soldiers, directing them to their living quarters. They were being treated as regular soldiers, camping out much as they were used to. No complaints were uttered, Major Constantine simply allowed the soldiers to do as they pleased.

Dawn and C had discussed their relationship at length that day in the river, eventually arriving at the conclusion that the rest of the division simply didn't have to know. It was unimportant and if the wrong people found out, it could jeopardise their future in the military.

That didn't stop the two of them sharing one tent however.

* * *

A month after joining the Demacians, the 23rd had been part of numerous defences against Noxian strikes, and one aggressive action in which the squad overran a fortified outpost. Suffering only minor wounds, the morale of the Piltover soldiers was high.

All changed however when Major Constantine rushed into their campsite at 4 in the morning, waking the division for an emergency defence. Demacian scouts had spotted a massive force of over 3000 Noxian foot soldiers approaching at speed only a mile out from the front.

The 23rd reacted instantly, leaping out of their tents and jumping to action. C donned his armor as soon as he left the tent, choking a handful of oats down his throat before washing it down with a gulp of water. Scooping up his warhammer and shield, he sprinted away, following his fellow soldiers. Thankfully, Dawn had spent the night in her own tent, causing no awkward interactions that morning.

Arriving at the front, the 23rd hastily assembled before their commander, who was himself armed for combat.

"The Noxians will be here in under 10 minutes. We are joining Demacian Company 81 in holding the Southern outpost. The Demacians are estimating around 200 will attack there, with the rest assaulting the front line. Wilt, Gera, Rosen, head to the top. C, Skors, Hillard, front line. The rest of you, second line. MOVE!"

The 23rd rushed to obey, sprinting to military vehicles waiting. 5 minutes later, the 23rd unloaded, joining the Demacians at the outpost as commanded. The three sharpshooters climbed to the top of the small outpost, taking positions facing East towards the Noxian approach. They were joined by a company of a dozen Demacian archers. On the ground, the 23rd formed up, also facing the East.

Just in time. The allied forces of Demacia and Piltover heard the Noxians before they saw them, the clanking of metal unmistakable. A minute later, a rank of Noxians appeared, marching. Followed by another. And another. And another. Demacia was wrong. C reckoned he could see around 500 Noxians approaching, not 200 as estimated. The 150 defenders would be overrun by such numbers.

Realising the same, the Captain Terence White of the 81st sent a runner to the Demacian front, requesting reinforcements. That trip was 20 minutes each way, leaving 40 minutes without help. The 150 would struggle, but Captain White was confident in his men. Major Constantine was equally confident in his own soldiers, but not so much in the shining Demacians. And shining they were, as the sun had risen behind the Noxian army, blasting directly into the eyes of the allied forces.

The Noxian force appeared to have stopped. One advantage of such a position was that the Noxians could only advance around 10 men at a time, meaning their numbers were far more manageable. At 100 metres, the archers in the tower loosed their first volley. The projectiles soared out, cutting down a handful of soldiers. A steady stream of arrows began to fly out from the tower, with the occasional rock and corssbow bolt accompanying.

The Noxians were 20 metres away when they suddenly charged the fortification, yelling out a war cry. The Demacians matched them in volume. The 23rd... tried.

Their volumes mattered little however when the two sides clashed. Skors, C and Hillard bore the brunt of the charge, bracing with their heavy shields and weaponry against the Noxians. Skors instantly started slamming his shield and fist into any unsuspecting Noxian he could see, while Hillard began laying about with her great axe. Her first swing took off a Noxian arm, blood spraying over her face as she screamed in excitement. C himself was more focused on defending the other two, catching multiple blows aimed at his friends on his shield, only rarely lashing out with his hammer.

Slowly but surely however, the Demacian line was forced back by the sheer numbers of Noxians, allowing for more Noxians to hit the front line, and more of the 23rd to start fighting. Maggie hurled her axes into a pair of Noxians, ripping them out of the fallen soldiers and pouncing on another. Dawn whirled her glaive masterfully, deflecting attacks from all directions while slicing into exposed flesh at any opportunity. A Noxian man attempted to grasp the shaft of her glaive, and Dawn simply yanked on the far end, ripping the weapon through the tunnel of his hands until the blade passed through, slicing his hands to ribbons.

Up in the tower, the three Piltover sharpshooters were keeping score.

"12...13...14..."

"9...10..."

"21...22...23...24..."

Wilt had the highest score, mainly due to the difference in fire rate. For every bolt Gera sent out, Wilt was able to fire off 4 sharpened rocks.

On the front lines, C had started being more aggressive. With every swing, his hammer would sink into something, be it wood, metal, or flesh, it would at least hit something. If it was followed by a cry of pain ot the crack of bone, it was a good sign. At his side, Skors was going to town. The goliath wielded his shield far more ably than any of the Demacians wielded their own weaponry. C looked across to see a spear shaft sailing towards his friend, so he lunged with his shield turning the point away before it could sink into Skors' side. In doing so however, he left his own body open. An opportunistic Noxian aimed a savage cut towards his unarmed head, but before it could crack his skull, a bloodsoaked short sword intercepted the strike. Before he could blink, another identical swort flashed, and the Noxian's head fell to the ground.

Turning to face the unknown saviour, C was greeted with the vision of his commander. Major Constantine was laying into an axe wielder by his side, dancing away from the curved blade before slamming the tip of his left sword into the man's neck. Retracting the blade, Constantine nodded to his soldier before turning to face his next victim.

The battle went on, both sides suffering significant losses. The Noxians suffered the most; Constantine estimated 300 had fallen to the Demacian and Piltover soldiers, with the Demacians losing around 75. Hillard caught a blade to the ribs, forcing the bulky woman back to the outpost to recover, and Rosen took an arrow to the shoulder, ending her fight for the day.

Things were about to become a lot more difficult however, as a familiar face strode forward in the Noxian lines. Katarina Du Couteau was displeased; Swain had given her command of this attack, she didn't expect to have to deal with anyone but weak-willed Demacians. Upon realising the Piltover soldiers were those of the 23rd however, a plan hatched in her mind. Up until then , the Noxians were unable to break their enemy's line, which held fast against them. The Sinister Blade thought she knew a way to change that... all it would take would be a well placed...

Yes. That would do. She could see them fighting alongside each other now, that blonde weakling and his capable glaive wielding companion. Choosing one of her favourite knives, the scarlet haired assassin took aim, and let loose.

* * *

Across the battlefield, Dawn was fighting alongside C, holding off a particularly brutish mace-wielding Noxian. Blocking a savage strike from the man, Dawn spun her glaive, slicing the metal into her foe's meaty left forearm, digging down to the bone. Howling in pain, the Noxian shrugged off his shield.

Perfect.

Dawn spun once again to disorient her opponent before stabbing straight forward, burying the tip of her glaive into the man's stomach. As she ripped the weapon out, the man fell forward, face down. Turning to aid C, she slammed the shaft of her glaive into the back of the man's head, sending him forwards. The Noxian's chin went low, where it met C's hammer. As the Noxian was launched backwards, Dawn smiled charmingly at C.

As their eyes met, a high pitched whined shot towards them, followed by a thunk as a blade parted flesh. Dawn's eyes widened as she look on her boyfriend, who looked back equally stunned. Raising a hand to her neck, Dawn felt the handle of a short dagger, embedded to the hilt. Opening her mouth to say something, only blood poured out. He vision darkened, and she dropped.

C looked on in horror as the blade slid into Dawn's neck. He caught her as she fell, almost in slow motion, keeping her in his arms. By his side, Skors looked across to see why his companion had left. When he glimpsed his friend, cradling Dawn in his arms, he turned to the Noxians with madness in his eyes. Screaming a guttural war cry, he crashed forward with disgusting strength, sending dozens of Noxian's reeling.

C didn't care about the Noxians, all he cared about was the girl in his arms.

" _Make it yours_ "

The words echoed in his mind, the memory of their first kiss flashing in his mind. So recent, yet so long ago now.

Major Constantine had taken his place in the front line. Calling for Skors to cover his place, he knelt beside the two soldiers.

"C. Let me take her. We can do nothing for her now. Let me make sure she is safe"

He couldn't let it show, but the girl's death was greatly affecting the Major as well. She brought life to the division, making it truly a family. He would greatly miss her.

But the war came first.

C nodded slowly, letting his commander scoop the girl into his arms, rushing her away from the front lines.

C rose, turning to face the Noxians. Skors was by his side, throwing back line after line of Noxian attackers. Maggie screamed a war cry, sinking her axes deep into every Noxian that dared show their face. Wilk and Gera had also joined the front line, having exhausted their supplies of ammunition, and Hillard also re-emerged, having stemmed the flow of blood for the time being.

Despite the fighting going on, C stood motionless, tears lining his cheeks. Sadness turned to anger. Anger turned to hatred. Hatred turned to a burning desire to end the lives of every Noxian in his way.

Clasping his weaponry once more, he looked around at his friends before screaming out at full volume:

"FOR DAWN!"

The response from his friends was deafening.

Charging headlong into the Noxians, C lashed out without a care for his own safety. The 23rd, consumed by grief and passion followed him. Without knowing or caring, the 23rd Division of Piltover forced the Noxians back, disobeying orders and breaking their line in order to pursue their enemies.

Laying about with his hammer, C only felt any satisfaction when caving in a Noxian skull. Anything else wasn't good enough. The rest of the 23rd felt similarly as they fought with ferociousness that sent the Noxians reeling.

However, the 23rd had pushed too far. They were seperated wholely from their Demacian allies. Despite fighting on in a grim circle, the 11 soldiers would surely fall soon.

Just as the Noxians looked to overwhelm the tiring 23rd, a horn blast sounded above the battle. Demacian cavalry began to sweep the field of battle, cutting down each and every Noxian soldier in their path. The 23rd fought on with renewed hope, and as the cavalry reached them, there were no further casualties. Not a single member of the 23rd escaped without a wound, and they were bloodsoaked to a man. C looked to be death incarnate; he was covered head to foot in blood and brain matter.

* * *

Stumbling back to camp, the 23rd collapsed around their fire. Despite his fearsome appearance, C's tempers had cooled, leaving only a profound sadness. As they assembled by the fire that evening, C's eyes were red and raw.

Looking over his grieving division, Major Constantine hated what he had to do next. He had argued with the Demacians long and hard, but in the end it was over his head.

"23rd. Remain seated." None of the soldiers argued. "I know you are all grieving the loss of your comrade, but I have been given orders by the Demacians. For breaking the defensive line in the battle today and ignoring direct orders to the contrary, you are all to receive 10 lashes, delivered tomorrow at dawn."

This was no surprise. Not one of the 23rd regretted their actions, but they were well aware they were disobeying orders.

"C. May I have a word with you please" the Major said sadly.

Rising once more, C walked with Constantine away from camp, the pair taking a seat on a nearby log.

"Firstly, I just want to say, I'm sorry for your loss", the Major opened.

C looked up tiredly yet fiercely, wondering how the Major could have known.

"Please C. You think I don't know my own division well enough to notice two of its members falling in love?"

C didn't respond. He had no energy to do so.

"There have been reports made to the Demacians C. Reports that you were the leader of the charge"

"Those reports are correct. In the heat of the moment I lead our division, yes."

"C... the Demacian's have ordered that you be forced to leave the Piltover Military Corps for your actions..." the Major spoke softly, hating the words he was speaking.

C absorbed the information silently. Not only had he lost Dawn, he would now lose his family too. If he had more tears to cry, he would have shed them then.

"You will be allowed to say farewell, and since it is Piltover Military property I am granting you your equipment. You are to leave in the morning. I am... incredibly sorry, C"

C took his head in his hands, his heart breaking for the second time that day.

* * *

The next morning, C had assembled his gear. Facing his division for the final time, he offered a formal salute.

All 10 remaining soldiers and their commander returned the gesture, many with tears in their eyes.

C bid personal farewells to every one of them before turning to Major Constantine. Saluting once more, C expected it to be returned. Instead, he was greeted with the Major's arms wrapping him tightly in a warm embrace.

"Why bother hiding a part of you? Accept it. Make it yours." the Major whispered in his ear.

Fresh tears threatened to spill over as the two men broke apart. Turning away, C gathered his equipment and walked away, not knowing where he was headed.

* * *

C had made it about a mile from his camp when he started feeling slightly ill. Laying his equipment on the ground, he sat on a fallen log to catch his breath and recover. He felt incredibly faint, and his vision blurred. Raising his arms, he realised his whole body was glowing green. C shut his eyes, hoping the feeling would pass. He then heard a whining sound, and his body started shaking violently, before stopping suddenly.

C had vanished.


	5. D

**D**

Test Subject Code: D

Sex: F

Survived Transmission: Y

Transmission Location: Kumungu Jungle

Foster Family: Undetermined

Transmission outcome: Success

* * *

The Shurimans were fleeing. Their horses were wide-eyed in terror, galloping at full speed through the treacherous jungle. Behind the trio, ferocious snarls were getting closer and closer.

One raider risked a glance behind. It was his undoing, as his horse's leg snagged on an unseen snare. A sickening crack sounded out as the beast's leg snapped multiple times, the horse falling forwards, crashing into the undergrowth with a shrill scream. It's rider fell with the animal, being crushed underneath. The man's neck was utterly crushed by the enormous weight, his eyes glazing over in death.

Not even looking back, the remaining pair of raiders spurred onwards, focusing on the tangle of jungle growth before them.

Behind them, dashing through the familiar territory, were a pair of fully grown cougars. The lead cougar, a large male, stopped to check on the fallen raider. Satisfied that the man was dead, he raced after the surviving pair.

One of the raiders began to fall behind. She had taken a route to the left of a large jungle plant, while her partner went to the right. It was just her luck that on that side, the growth was thin, while she would need a machete to hack through the left if she were on foot. As the realisation dawned, she slowed her pace, allowing the horse to find its way through without causing injury. The Shuriman knew that if the horse died, so did she.

And that was just what happened.

Inexplicably, out of the growth to her right, a 6 foot long spear sailed with alarming speed and precision. The stone tip of the spear sank deep into the horse's neck, causing the beast to choke as it shrieked in pain. With an almighty crash, the slow-moving horse crashed to it's side, throwing the Shuriman raider from her saddle. Rolling free quickly, the female raider managed to avoid being crushed like her fellow. It would not save her.

The Shuriman reacted quickly, attempting to flee on all fours into the growth surrounding her. With a great leap however, the male cougar exploded out of the jungle plants behind her, slamming into his prey.

The female cougar up ahead had returned to chasing the final trespasser, satisfied at the screams sounding out behind her.

The third raider had been lucky, she thought, choosing the easiest path through the jungle despite clearly having no knowledge about the terrain. This would be a close chase.

This had occured to the Shuriman as well; the jungle growth was growing thinner every few gallops her ride took. It was apparent that he was finally reaching the edge of the jungle and hopefully safety in the desert. The cougars wouldn't chase him across sand dunes, would they? Hoped blossomed in his mind as he saw the edge of the jungle approaching and the sand beyond. If he could make it out, he would be back with the rest of his tribe within the hour. Perhaps he would return and avenge his tribesmen.

Shaking his head at the thought, he focused on the task at hand. A soft whistling sound entered his ears while he was still rejecting the notion of revenge. Why was his head still shaking? His horse galloped on, and yet he had no control over his head. Why did it hurt to shake?

The answer became apparent when his eyes glanced down on his horse. Blood was dripping onto his ride's back. Dripping from his body. Or rather, the bloodsoaked spear tip that had emerged from his chest. Where did that come from?

So many questions filled his head and with them, drowsiness. Losing control over his actions, the Shuriman almost sleepily drooped to one side, falling off his horse and dropping to the jungle floor. His horse continued, streaming out onto the desert sand with reckless abandon, wanting nothing more than to escape the snarls approaching behind.

As the Shuriman's vision darkened, his mind was still asking questions.

* * *

The cougars had reunited, grooming each other and checking carefully for wounds. Thankfully, there were none. All things considered, it had been a clean execution of the trespassing Shurimans. The incursions were becoming more common, as cougar pelts were becoming rarer and more expensive by the month in the Shuriman markets; the small packs of cats in the Kumungu jungle were incredibly territorial and aggressive to all who approached.

Of course, that didn't stop some trying, like the group today. The fools, the female thought spitefully; they hadn't bothered attempting to hide their approach, assuming the cougars would know instantly regardless. Instead they had opted to simply assault the den with arrows and scimitars, causing only minor wounds to the pack who fought them off with ease. Two had fallen to their teeth and claws, leaving the pursuing pair to hunt down the survivors.

Unfortunately, one of their pack had been wounded badly; their mother, the head of the family. Their father had passed two years earlier and the third sibling, their younger sister, was caring for their wounded leader at the den. It was therefore left to the remaining brother and sister duo to give pursuit to the offenders.

Having established that the pair were safe and unharmed, the cougars made their way back towards their victims, gliding swiftly through their home territory. The male ignored the female corpse, choosing instead to continue onwards and leave his sister to check the body. As she approached however, her sharp nose detected multiple scents, some familiar and some foreign, off deeper into the jungle.

Recognising the scent of humans, the female cougar was both instantly cautious yet wildly curious. One she recognised; he was no threat. The others... she would have to see. The cougar padded through the jungle growth towards the scents, arriving at a scene she certainly did not expect.

Walking out into a small clearing, the cougar absorbed the seemingly inexplicable situation, her head tilting as she approached. To her right, a tall human also emerged from the jungle. Shrouded all in black, the cougar's earlier detection was proved correct.

Shen, the Eye of Twilight, silently approached the confused cougar. He was also befuddled by the sight before him, a myriad of questions assaulting his mind: What in the world were two newly born children doing in the Kumungu Jungle, how had they arrived, and who had placed them there?

The female cougar seemed to stiffen somewhat beside him, the same questions entering her mind. Shen made no reaction as yellow light emerged from the cougar, her form beginning to grow somewhat; no, not grow, but change altogether. Dust swirled softly as the cougar rose up on two legs instead of four, her facial features changing accordingly. The cougar's fur began to shrink away, replaced instead by tribal markings and scarce hide clothing, covering the woman's form. Long brown hair swirled out from behind an olive-brown face, piercing emerald eyes continuing to gaze down on the younglings before her.

Nidalee, the Bestial Huntress, straightened up.

At her side, the Eye of Twilight had made no reaction. His order, the Kinkou, coexisted in the Kumungu with Nidalee's cougar pack. This was not the first time he had witnessed the Huntress' powers firsthand; while the two minor factions were not allies, they had accepted the other's presence in the jungle, mutually acknowledging that both wished to preserve the balance.

The two humans approached the young children with caution. Their presence in such an inhospitable place seemed simply impossible, and they would surely perish if left exposed. This fact seemed to occur to both parties, each moving closer, within arms reach. It was then that they both realised what lay on the childrens' foreheads. Both had foreheads with engravings in the skin; the tiny female had the letter 'D' etched into it's form, while the slightly larger male baby had a bold 'Q' inscribed on his tender skin.

Their confusion growing ever greater, the adults pondered the symbols. To Nidalee, her thoughts instantly went to her tribe; they would interpret this as a gift, and she believed similarly. Shen was not so certain, not making judgement on the situation. Instead, his arm reached towards the children, carefully retrieving the exposed boy while the Huntress watched on. When he reached with his right arm towards the girl however, Nidalee hissed softly. Reaching forward herself, she claimed the child as her own. She had no interest in combatting over both; her pack didn't need to know there were two, and their relationship with the Kinkou was currently mutually beneficial.

With the child in her arms, Nidalee raced off into the trees towards her brother, barely sparing Shen a glance.

Behind her, the Eye of Twilight sighed softly. The cougars were as fierce a foe as he could ever hope to face. He just hoped that fierceness would not consume the new member of the pack.

* * *

The cool water felt amazing on its tongue in the heat; the deer was lucky. It had stumbled upon the waterhole by chance, having escaped certain death at the hands of the hunters from whom it had fled in the desert. Retreating into the nearby jungle, the hunters had been slowed drastically by the tall growth, allowing the animal to escape the desert exposure and seek shelter in the Kumungu.

It was damnably hot, that was undeniable. Sweat moistened the deer's entire body as it drank deep from the pool. Despite the life or death situation it had just escaped, the deer allowed it's nerves to settle and it's guard to drop as it enjoyed the cool water before its face, drinking greedily.

Eyes narrowed thirty feet away, hands clenching. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

In. Out. In. Out.

In. Out.

In.

The bow twanged sharply as the teenager released her grip on the string, a stone arrow shooting rapidly towards the drinking deer. With a shriek of surprise and pain, the arrow sunk deep into the beast's neck, causing blood to flow from the wound and the deer to sprint away from the direction of attack.

It only made it ten feet.

Another violent twang sounded out in the jungle, a snare catching the deer's legs, tripping the animal and sending it crashing to the ground beneath.

Out.

Perfect.

Hearing the sound of the deer's throat being ripped out, the teenager quickly slid down the tree in which she had been placed. Long, jet black hair rippled down her shoulders as she untied her hair brace, letting the dark hair cascade down her olive shoulders. Satisfied that her family had control of the next stage of the hunt, she dipped her head and hair into the pool, scrubbing softly at the dirt that covered her form. It truly was disgustingly hot.

With a rush of water, the D's head re-emerged. Drying her face on her fur wrist coverings, the teenager rose and turned towards the carcass. Her brown eyes zeroed in on the corpse, now being dragged away by her uncle. Her aunt and grandmother followed closely behind. The animal would do for meals for a few days, the girl thought, as her mother approached.

The adult cougar's form began to shift, yellow light shining as her mother adopted her human form.

Having no formal language, the family members had no way of conversing in human form. That was alright. It didn't bother D, truly. She had her ways of understanding how her mother felt, and what the plan was for the next hunt. That seemed to be all life was however; each day planning and carrying out the next hunt for the next meal in order to survive another day. Despite the excitement of having her own role in such activities, the teenager found herself growing... well, bored.

Her mother embraced her, placing her hand on the girl's cheek tenderly. That was her way of congratulating her daughter and also showing affection. The two, despite having no form of communication, had sucha connection that shed light on the others' emotions. Sensing the boredom in her daughter's eyes, Nidalee held her closer. It had been 16 years since finding the girl in the jungle, and yet the pack had never been more tight; D had been welcomed heartily into the family of cougars despite her permanently human form, much to Nidalee's relief.

What D had not witnessed yet however, were the attacks from the North. They had kept coming; raiders charging into the jungle to hunt down the pack of cougars. The Shurimans had yet to draw significant blood on the pack, only minor wounds had been dealt while each time at least one raider had fallen to the claws of Nidalee's family. D had been hidden away in the den while these attacks had been fended off, protected by her adopted family. D knew she had no real place among the cougars; it did not take much to realise she was somewhat of an outsider among the four-legged beasts. This was never an issue however, Nidalee had ensured she was treated as a valued member of the family. And so it was.

At age 10, D began to join the cougars on their hunts, training with a bow and arrows, handmade by Nidalee herself. She had witnessed the weapons being used by the raiders and had experimented with them herself before crafting one for her daughter. The ranged weapon came naturally to D; by age 12 she was an accomplished marksman, often securing the killing blows on fleeing prey before the cougars could chase them down. At age 16, she rarely missed anymore, but the use of the weapons on prey that couldn't retailiate was growing uninteresting. She acknowledged that the pack needed food and her skills made survival significantly easier, but she took no enjoyment from the hunt as she used to.

The days began to blur together in the vibrant jungle: waking, scouting, hunting, eating, patrolling, sleeping. Wake, scout, hunt, eat, patrol, sleep. Wake, look, shoot, eat, look, sleep. Wake, shoot, sleep. It came to the point where D would rise early just to travel to the edge of the Kumungu and look out across the Shuriman sand dunes. The thought of striking out excited her, and yet she knew she could never do so. Not while her family remained.

Everything changed when she encountered the raiders herself.

* * *

Dawn was approaching, the horizon beginning to light up as D sat in a tree on the edge of the jungle. Snacking idly on a hunk of deer from the night before, D eagerly looked out towards the emerging brightness.

She loved mornings like this.

Not a cloud was in sight as the first crack of yellow peeked out over the horizon, hitting D's eyes brightly. Minutes later, the Sun in all it's glory shone out, hovering above the horizon, signalling the true beginning of the day.

D was about to leap off her tree when she heard the voices behind her.

"...ound here somewhere, Gular was certain they would be near the edge"

"I heard my father as well as you, idiot. There are no traces I can see"

"No... wait, here!"

D turned silently on her perch, catching sight of a trio of Shurimans poking around the jungle, around 70 metres away. Within arrow range. She could not understand the language the Shurimans were speaking, but it mattered little. She could remember clearly the terror she had felt as a child whenever the riders had assaulted her family, and the desperation in her mother's eyes as she healed and mended her wounded family. Neither were emotions she wished to see nor feel again.

Turning her attention back towards the three men, she contemplated their actions. The tallest one was peering down to the ground, brushing his hands over the jungle floor, before yelling out triumphantly.

D's blood turned cold as she realised what they had found.

Her tracks.

As if the leader had heard something, the man turned his gaze directly towards D. Their eyes met, and the man smiled. He had heard from past raiders from his tribe about the humans of the Kumungu; the Kinkou were not to be trifled with, but they were not the only inhabitants. Multiple groups of fleeing riders had claimed to have seen a pair of female humans seemingly allied with the cougars. And if they were allied, that meant...

She knew where they were.

D leapt off her perch, sprinting deep into the jungle.

Giving a yell to his companions, the lead raider gave chase to the fleeing girl.

* * *

D did not hold back on speed as she glided through the jungle. The riders were a fair distance behind her and didn't know the territory as well, but the girl was on foot. It would be a close call as she sprinted towards her den. If she could make it there, she was confident her family would be able to defeat the raiders.

Dashing under a log, the girl disappeared from sight for a while, then reappeared further ahead, clearly well trained in how to navigate this area of the jungle. The raiders were not, but their horses were the best of the tribe; they could spot out vines and snares that would fell both ride and rider and avoid them perfectly. That being said, the speed between the two parties was comparable.

The leader didn't care if the girl made it to her family; he was prepared to burn the whole jungle to the ground if it meant he got his hands on the cougar pelts. His father was the chief of the tribe and had been clamouring for years about the rising costs of the exotic material. A single pelt would sell for thousands, yet not one had been found in the Shuriman markets for almost a decade. The Kumungu was too perilous a venture for most, but Lorben son of Gular was not like most people.

Charging after his quarry, Lorben directed his horse to travel leisurely; the information would take hours to extract from the cougar-kin, but if they kept the girl in their sights, she would no doubt lead them straight to his prize. If he was able to kill the cougars before his father and the rest of the warriors arrived, he would be praised highly and his position as heir to the tribe leadership would be unopposed.

The girl rushed onwards, her animal instincts sending her headlong towards what she considered safety.

* * *

Nidalee's ears shot up in the early morning light as she felt the soft tremors of horse riding approaching. The huntress, in cougar form, rushed to her family members and roused them from their dreams. Her brother was the fastest to react, dashing out of the den to keep watch. Nidalee's younger sister was next, following her brother out to assist. Lastly, the mother of the pack rose, gliding out of the den. Nidalee followed her family, her heart twisted in worry. Where was her daughter?

* * *

A few hundred metres away, D was almost at her physical limit. She had never had to cover this much ground this quickly in her life; she was an incredibly fit teenager, but sprinting through rough terrain early in the morning was difficult for any human. For the millionth time, she wished she could shift forms like her mother.

The surrounding jungle began to become increasingly familiar. D's heart blossomed with hope as she spotted the familiar coats of golden brown through the brush. Her family had arrived. Spotting her uncle, aunt and grandmother prepared to defend, an immediate question filled her mind: Where was her mother?

That was answered a second later when a gust of wind passed by her cheek, followed by a sickening cry ringing out from behind her. A spear had flown inches from D's face, burying itself into the furthest raider's torso, exploding through his back. The man fell to the ground, dead.

The other two slowed down as they quickly realised they had arrived at their destination. Lorben cared little for the loss, what mattered more was not falling victim to the next throw. Leaping from their horses, the two raiders drew their bows and hid behind the nearby trees, leaving their rides exposed.

A pair of arrows flew out towards the cougars, both being nimbly dodged by the family. From there, it was a simple hunt. The leader had positioned himself halfway up one of the trees, assuming the cougars couldn't reach him and that Nidalee's spears could be blocked by the thick trunk. The other had sequestered himself inside a thicket on the other side of the horses, creating an awkward angle of attack for the cougars. Nidalee and her sister rushed towards the tree-borne raider, while her mother and brother slowly drifted towards the thicket.

The matron of the pack was concerned about the situation. She could see the man clearly, yet there was no obvious way to reach him without putting herself in harms way. As if to confirm her theory, the man drew an arrow and sent it spinning out of the thicket towards the cougars. Dodging back, they dodged easily.

Her son opted for the direct approach, pouncing straight onto the thicket, his claws tearing into the sharp branches and hopefully, the man inside. This was confirmed when blood began to spray out from all angles and screams emanated from the brush; her son had found flesh. The screams stopped suddenly as the cougar ripped out his throat, the man gurgling blood and falling still. As her son shrank away from the brush however, his mother did not fail to notice the arrow lodged deep in his belly. With a cry of worry, she rushed over to her family member, beginning to groom and clean the wound with her tongue.

The leader was proving more difficult a kill than his friend. His theory was correct; the cougars had no way of climbing the tree without putting themselves directly at arrow-point, and any spear tossed simply ricocheted off the trunk. All the while, Lorben was firing arrows at both Nidalee and her sister, keeping them at a distance. He smirked, confident that he could remain up the tree as long as was required. All he needed to do was...

Nidalee watched on in confusion as the man rose, drawing a small vial from his linen top. Tipping the contents over the arrow head, the stone was now slick with black liquid. Nidalee's sister looked at her, also confused. Lorben drew a small stone and flicked it against the arrow head multiple times, creating a scraping sound. Neither of the cougars knew what he was trying to do.

With a sudden cry of triumph, Lorben acheived his goal. The arrow, slick with oil, had caught a spark from his flint. The head was now alight, and without hesitation he drew his bow and fired it skywards. The burning arrow shot out, blazing through the canopy.

Still not understanding the symbolism of such an act, Nidalee was perplexed. She had seen fire before, but it was a dangerous and natural force that should be feared, not toyed with as the leader seemed to have done.

The leader looked down, re-entering his defensive position before smirking at the female cougars. Soon they would discover why he had fired, and in the meantime, they had no way to bring him down.

Or so he thought.

A soft whistle sounded out, a rush of air approaching from his right. A solid _thunk_ sounded out, as a different arrow feathered his right armpit. Sinking deeply, the wound was not fatal, but the pain was immense. Before he could react however, another arrow sailed out, this time penetrating the man's skull. The stone cracked through the bone of his temple and stuck directly into his brain, shutting his body down instantly.

Lorben dropped from the tree like a sack of potatoes, crunching into the jungle floor beneath.

D sat in a tree twenty metres to his right; he had been too intent on defending himself from the cougars, forgetting that there was a fifth member of the pack. With no time to stand on ceremony, D turned her attention to her family.

Nidalee knew instantly what had happened when he brother approached, her mother following behind. An arrow was sunk deep into his undercarriage, blood dripping from the serious injury. D watched on as yellow light shone around her mother, transforming her back into the tall emerald-eyed woman she knew and loved.

With one quick yank, Nidalee ripped the arrowhead from her brother, who snarled in protest. Nidalee rolled her eyes before quickly getting to work. Without hesitation, she raised her hand towards the injury. Nidalee's limb began to glow with more yellow light, imparting energy from her body to her brother. The bleeding stopped, the wound closing over, leaving only a light scar and barely any pain.

This was not an unfamiliar sight to the family; whatever had given the human the power to transform into a cougar had also granted her the power to heal minor wounds such as these, yet it still amazed D when she had the chance to witness her mother's healing.

Having completed the process, Nidalee transformed back into a cougar in order to converse with her family.

"Why only three? These humans were dressed the same as the others, some of whom survived. Have they not learned?"

Her sister was equally confused, "And what was he doing with his bow and that fire? Why waste such a power on a useless shot?"

Their brother had curled up to lick his non-existent wounds, just as he did after every scrap. He believed it showed strength to be injured, the rest knew it only showd rashness.

"It doesn't matter why they were here, they're not anymore. What's the issue?" he growled out, caring little.

"The fire... it must have been symbolic. But why? There was no one else nearby who could have seen it... unless..."

Nidalee's blood ran cold as she realised.

"It was a signal. There are more, coming now. Probably many more. These three were never meant to attack, they were only to find us"

"There is no time then, we must flee!" her mother contributed.

"I will not flee from these weaklings!" her brother snapped.

"We cannot fight all of them brother, it would only cause our deaths" his younger sister responded.

"I refuse to flee. For 12 years we have never had any issues with the riders before, why should we now? We are the most feared pack in the Kumungu"

Nidalee's ears pricked up, followed by all of her family.

"Horses. We must flee, now!" she snapped

"I WILL NOT RUN!" her brother snarled ferociously.

"If we do not run, we stand together" her mother replied softly.

Nidalee's stance sunk somewhat. She adored her family, but they could be far too stubborn for her liking sometimes.

"Very well. We fight together"

Excluded from the conversation, D was up in yet another tree, having now detected the riders herself. Her mother approached, conveying the message that they would fight as best she could before returning to cougar form. They would retreat into the jungle to a better defensive position before standing their ground and giving no quarter.

The pack melted into the trees, vanishing from their den and making haste.

* * *

Not a minute later, the riders arrived, all 8 armed to the teeth and prepared for combat.

Their leader was a huge man who bid his riders halt before stepping down from his horse. Walking over to a nearby tree, he reached down to the fallen form of his son. They had already found the corpse of one tribesman 100 metres further back, and one of his companions called out, signalling the discovery of the third man, but Gular was focused on the form at his feet. Reaching down, he brushed the back of his hand against his son's cheek almost tenderly, a slight tear threatening to surface from his eye.

Shaking his head, he turned his back on the corpse, condemning his arrogant fool of a son for his over-eagerness. His task was simply to scout out the cougars, not assault them head on. His boy had a thirst for glory, and it had cost him his life. Gular's heart stung, but it was also driven with thoughts of revenge. The cougars and their human companions would die for this. Better yet; they would burn.

With that, he remounted and drove his companions forward, following the tracks past the empty cougar den, giving chase to the fleeing predators.

It was time they became prey.

* * *

It was the middle of the day when the cougar family halted, preparing for the riders to arrive. The tremors of their hooves had rung in the ears of the animals for hours, always around half a mile behind. The five cougars and their human kinswoman stopped in a favourable defensive area; the growth was high enough to prevent horse entry completely, while aggressors on foot would be heavily slowed. The growth would also be high enough to mask the approach of the cougars as they stalked their prey.

D took her place as usual high in a central tree behind the rest of her family. Nidalee stood at the base of the tree, 4 spears in hand. Keeping one in her grasp, she firmly planted the remaining three into the ground with their heads upwards, able to be retrieved quickly if they were needed. The rest of the family spread out in a line in front among the tangled growth. The solitary male took the central position, while his sister took the left side and his mother guarded the right.

The increasing volume of the horses' steps gave away the riders' approach, and approach they did. Counting 8 men in leather armour and wielding a variety of Shuriman weaponry, D held up 8 fingers to her family, conveying their positions to the cougars so they could adjust accordingly: 4 appeared to be approaching in a line, spread out. One remained at the back, a massive wall of muscle. He was clearly the leader of the attackers. Two stayed close by him in order to guard their leader, while the final small raider opened a pouch in which he began to extract multiple tools.

From D's position, she wasn't able to confidently land an arrow on the 4 men in the back. The others were… a different story. As the aggressors dismounted, realising they could not approach on horseback, the mother and daughter duo let loose. Nidalee's spear sung true, bursting through a rider's neck mid-dismount, sending the man flying back with a small explosion of blood. The Shurimans shrunk away from their fallen companion, suddenly wary of their approach. Following the spear was an arrow which, if it's target hadn't cringed away from the earlier death, would have found it's mark. As it was, the arrow sunk into the ground.

The remaining raiders continued their advance, nocking arrows to their strings. On the far right, a snarl sounded out as the mother of the pack pounced from her position within a bush, leaping onto the woman with ferocity unlike any she had ever seen; the defence of her family and their home had called impossible energy to the mother's muscles. She dove on the female Shuriman, tearing her claws deep into her chest, ripping and slashing into her breasts and stomach. Whole chunks of flesh along with a fountain of blood burst from her body, cast aside by the furious cougar as her prey screamed. The screams greatly dismayed her fellows, who began to retreat. It was then that the remaining pair of cougars pounced; the young female waited until her opponent approached her bush, unknowing of what lay within, then slashed across her face with a claw while propelling the rest of her body forward with her hind legs. The blinded man staggered back, and the cougar followed him all the way. His screams sounded out as the carnage began, sending the male cougar into a frenzy. He dove out of his hiding place earlier than intended at his target. Expecting the attack, the man leapt backwards, avoiding the pounce altogether and exposing the reckless cougar. A pair of arrows sang out from the men in the back, slicing deeply into the cougar's side, causing him to snarl and consider retreat.

It would have been the right decision.

Nidalee watched on as her brother, instead of backing away, leaped forwards once again at the off-balance raider in front of him. His pain forgotten, her brother tore his teeth into the man's torso, ripping away at the soft flesh of his belly. His skin stripped away to the claws of the cougar, and his screams emanated into the midday sun as blood fountained from his soon-to-be corpse. The attack was not without further cost however, and a second pair of arrows found their way into the cougar's chest. Realising his mistake and beginning to feel the pain of the impacts, Nidalee watched her brother leap backwards back into the growth, padding away to safety.

Leaving her spears behind, Nidalee ran towards him, attempting to heal his wounds as quickly as possible. The arrows were well placed, and it would take a long time for them to heal, if Nidalee had the time.

As she did so however, the small raider at the back made his purpose known. Holding up a set of now flaming brands, the man tossed the flamesticks into the jungle, where they slowly began to make an impact. The heat rose steadily as the flames began to spread; thankfully, the jungle was moist, causing the spread to be slow, but spread it would.

Up in the tree, D was the only member of the family that noticed. Nidalee was distracted, tending to her brother, while her other family members were finishing off their targets. Ironically, D was the only member that had absolutely no way of communicating the information to the others. With desperation, D fired off an arrow wildly towards the firestarter. The arrow was fired with haste and at great distance, it was a miracle therefore that it embedded itself deeply into his left arm, causing blood to flow.

It was then however that the three remaining unwounded raiders began to stride forward. The flames had started to spread more rapidly and with greater heat. By now, the rest of the cougars had noticed and were struggling to escape. The mother of the family was caught out, surrounded by fire behind her and with a raider approaching from the front. On the other side, D's aunt was retreating back to the rest of the family who watched on helplessly as their mother faced off against the large man.

From the other side, the other tall raider was hacking his way through the growth aggressively, moving towards the cougars. Nidalee noticed her sister leave her side, meeting the man halfway. The two clashed in heated combat, but Nidalee was preoccupied with her mortally wounded brother.

D was the only member of the family in a position to help. Choosing the right side and her grandmother, she leapt from her perch in the central tree and rushed towards the combating duo.

* * *

As D approached her grandmother, she realised the way the fight was turning. Her grandmother had seemed to have lost the burst of energy she had mustered before, her fury subsiding as she failed time and time again to penetrate the heavy set man's defence. The heavy shield he bore was enough to throw her back time and time again, and D could see multiple small gashes from the scimitar in his right hand cut into her sides. The smoke was unfamiliar to her grandmother as well, and it was clear from her heavy breathing that it was proving to be very difficult.

What became painfully clear to all involved was that if the fight wore on, there could only be one victor. The raider was quite content with wasting the cougar's energy as she attempted once again in vain to slice through into his chest. This time however, she flung her whole body as soon as she was forced back straight at her opponent, hoping to end the fight with one full attack.

It didn't work out as she had hoped.

D watched on in horror as her caring grandmother leapt with tremendous force towards the raider, only to feel the metal of his scimitar embed itself into her soft stomach tissue, instantly spilling blood onto the jungle floor. The old cougar, realising her defeat, managed to slash out and catch the man in the eye, causing blood to flow from his cut forehead and eye socket, but it was too little too late.

With great force, the raider ripped out his scimitar from the cougar's body, sending her to the ground, before hacking into her neck with the blade once more. More blood spilled as D's grandmother, the kind and caring matron of the pack, fell still.

Shrieking a bloodcurdling cry, D leapt up from her position, drawing her bow and firing again and again, sending arrow after arrow towards the man's position. Some found their mark, biting deep into his arm, shoulder, and thigh, but many more sailed off into the jungle as the wailing girl threw down her bow. Drawing a short knife, she dove full on at the wounded man, slamming her full weight into him and knocking him backwards onto the ground. Straddling his chest and casting his shield to one side, she carved into him with the blade, enacting pure butchery on the Shuriman.

The raider had been still for a whole minute when D stopped spilling his blood, gasping and heaving as her emotions overflowed.

From the fire in front of her, an enormous man strode confidently. He looked down on the bloodsoaked girl with pure hatred, fury entering his features.

"It was you! You were the one who killed my son! The bow-wielding bitch herself!" he bellowed, unsheathing a massive greatsword and moving towards the girl. D sat there, looking up at the wall of muscle. She could hear snarls of pain coming from her family to her far left accompanied by clashes of... multiple weapons? She had no time to ponder that; if her family was to die, she would fall with them.

Raising his sword, Gular sent it crashing down towards D.

It never met her skin.

Before it could seperate the girl's head from her shoulders, a spear came flying out from the brush. The tip hit the sword directly, sending it sideway just before it carved the girl in two. Dashing out of the flaming jungle to her left, Nidalee made to stand defensively in front of her daughter.

Before she could do so, Gular lashed out with his heavy boot, sinking his foot into D's chin. The short girl sailed backwards painfully, slamming into the spiky foliage behind her. Her head hit a solid rock and she slumped to the ground. Nidalee, witnessing her daughter's abuse, grasped a second spear and charged at the huge man in front of her.

He met her halfway, smashing his full body into hers with horrendous force, throwing the woman backwards. She remained on her feet, but dropped her spear, adopting a different approach. Dropping to the ground, Nidalee instantly transformed into a cougar, making the large man step back in surprise. The Huntress chose to capitalise on the moment of hesitation, diving at the man and sinking her teeth into his left knee.

The effect was instantaneous; Gular's knee buckled and brought him down to the ground. Gaining the upper hand, Nidalee attempted to slash her claws across his face and gouge out his eyes. The Shuriman managed to deftly interrupt the swipe, catching her forelegs and throwing her violently to the side.

Nidalee quickly transformed to her human form again, grasping her dropped spear and hurling it headlong towards her foe. The point sailed true, but once again Gular was too fast. Before the tip could penetrate his breast and sink into his heart, he stepped to the side and _caught_ the spear before snapping the shaft on his knee. The two pieces dropped to the ground, and Gular once more hefted his heavy greatsword.

Nidalee, out of human options, changed back into a cougar and leapt forward, hoping to dodge the angular slash Gular sent her way.

She was a microsecond too late.

The sharp blade caught her hindquarters as she leapt forward, biting into her flesh and sending her backwards. Blood began to spill from the wound, falling to the ground in sheets. The cougar was in a great deal of discomfort, and as a groggy D looked up, Gular sent a massive blow down towards her mother's abdomen. The blow was catastrophic, slicing deeply into the fur and flesh beneath, sending her mother to the ground in defeat. As Gular raised his greatsword for a final blow, time seemed to slow.

D cried out in vain, unable to stop the blow from crashing into her mortally wounded mother.

The blade came down.

And stopped.

For the second time, Gular had been denied.

A purple energy had surrounded Nidalee, seemingly protecting her from physical harm. Gular stepped back disbelievingly as, a second later, a man appeared next to the fallen cougar, hands clasped in reverence.

Shen, the Eye of Twilight, opened his eyes.

Gular let out a cry of absolute rage as his blade swung towards the black-clad ninja. Shen deftly swept his own blade from it's sheath, purple energy surrounding the metal as it deflected the blow with ease. Shen dashed towards Gular, sending the man spinning as he seemingly became immaterial with the movement. Once again swinging in rage, Gular sent all of his force towards Shen, crying out in memory of his son.

Shen simply stood there.

Bright light shone out around him, creating a shield which cancelled the strike and absorbed the energy. Retracting the zone, Shen absorbed the expended energy and used it to uppercut Gular, sending the massive man flying backwards.

"Begone. You are grieving. Walk away out of respect for your son." the Eye of Twilight spoke softly.

"I will not let my son's death be meaningless!" Gular roared, charging the ninja once more.

 _And so you will let your own mean nothing?_

With a small sigh, Shen sidestepped the massive blow. With a flick of his wrist, he sent his own blade into Gular's chest, halting the man's charge in it's tracks. Blood began to emerge from the impact, the blade penetrating Gular's heart.

With a massive crash, the Shuriman tribe-leader crashed to the jungle floor.

* * *

Without hesitation, Shen turned and rushed back towards the fallen cougar. Nidalee was bleeding profusely, and unfortunately none of Shen's training involved medicine. He was at a loss, yet he blamed himself. He was too late on his entrance.

None of that mattered now. It was clear the cougar was dying. What mattered was what she left behind.

D, now somewhat recovered from her head-injury, came to the same realisation. Diving towards her mother, she fell to her side. Nidalee looked up at the girl, a tear brushing her feline eyes.

With great effort, the cougar formed enough energy to transform once more. The wounds were no less devestating in human form, blood spilling even faster from the smaller body.

But it was worth it, to hold her daughter in her human arms one last time.

The two rocked against each other lovingly until the end.

* * *

Watching the emotional scene, Shen heard his companion approach from behind. Q was garbed similarly to the Eye of Twilight, but wielding instead a long blood-soaked scythe, having dispatched one of the remaining raiders himself.

No questions needed to be asked, it was clear what had happened. That didn't stop his heart going out to the short girl in front of him. Q knew who she was of course, Shen had not withheld that information from him. Why would he, it was common knowledge among the Kinkou that he had been found alongside a girl with the letter D engraved on her forehead. He knew there was a connection between them, but was yet to figure it out. He had so many questions, and no one to ask.

Answers would come however, sooner than he expected.

A faint green light began to emanate from the girl in front of him. Shen snapped his head up from his thoughtful pose, noticing the development. Turning to face his pupil, he stopped, astounded, seeing that the same effect had taken over Q's body as well.

Before either of them could speak, D and Q had vanished.

* * *

 **Hi guys, I figured now that I have over 100 readers I had better have a chat with you all!**

 **Firstly, it means a lot that so many of you are interested in my writings; I truly hope you are enjoying each chapter. As you have probably figured out, the first 26 chapters of this fic are going to follow a similar pattern, but after that, all the questions in your mind will be answered... slowly. Some chapters will be longer than others, and some will be... well... see 'B'.**

 **Lastly, it would mean the world to me if you could drop a review down below, this is my first piece of writing ever and I would LOVE to hear your thoughts. I'm flying blind at the moment and will take any and all criticism/assistance.**

 **Chapter E should be out soonish, Uni starts up soon and work has just begun as well, but I'll do my best!**

 **\- Pearl**


End file.
